


Things that Were

by Lindzzz



Series: Things That- [1]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Blood, Emotional Healing, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con References, Redemption, Return of the Koz, Slow Build, Violent Fantasies, non-con fantasies, traumatic flashbacks, welcome back koz!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:33:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 43,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindzzz/pseuds/Lindzzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Guardians had thought they had finally found a way to rid themselves of Pitch Black.</p><p>And they did.</p><p>They just didn't expect to be left with the shattered remains of Kozmotis Pitchiner afterwards.</p><p>(ratings and warnings for later chapters)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Art by the lovely besteck! http://fanartdrawer.tumblr.com/
> 
> And if you've read my other stuff, you'll probably recognize "Disbanded" In the prologue here. I went ahead and left that up as a stand-alone for the gen fans!

[ ](http://s42.photobucket.com/user/Nuhor/media/header_zps05035c42.jpg.html)

It was North who found it. An old book, older than any of them, hiding away in the library he kept ("For books are also treasure eh, Jack?"). Jack isn't really sure HOW he found it or how he had a book that no one had bothered to read, but he wasn't about to go asking too many questions.

But there are a LOT of questions when they actually start flipping through it. At first it seemed to be another history book, one speaking of an ancient golden era that had obviously been long over even when it was written. But then it started to tell another tale. One of a dark prison world where the terrors and fears of the universe were kept. How something had risen from there, how the fearlings took a body and gained a physical form that ravaged the stars and spread fear through the universe. It didn't take a genius to realize they were still dealing with that unnamed horror. 

Jack listened to the tale with increasingly wide eyes. "So Pitch is just....a whole bunch of these things in one body?"

Bunnymund looked physically ill. "Crikey, he's a bunch of parasites that took over their bloody host!"

North idly flipped through the book, eyebrows raised. "So it seems. What we see as Pitch, he is just a sort of, how you say, vessel. Most likely is that they took over a dead body that happened to be nearby I am thinking."

Tooth shudders, feathers ruffling. "That's terrible!”

“Gross. But it would explain why he’s all...y’know...” Jack waved his fingers by his head, raising his eyebrows significantly. He pauses for a beat, then frowns, nose wrinkling. “Wait, you guys didn’t know?”

North shrugs and closes the book. “Pitch is oldest of all of us. He is older even than Sandman. There is much that we do not know about him.”

“A lot that we don’t WANT t’know.” Bunnymund adds.

There was more talk, but really, the new knowledge didn’t change much. Pitch may have been a conglomerate of fearlings that were currently acting as a committee in one body, but he was still Pitch. So Jack didn’t think too much more of it after that ( _aside from the occasional thought of things like ‘what if they don’t all agree on something?’ or ‘does that mean they all have to take a vote before making decisions?’ and ‘which one is responsible for the dancing?’_ )

But North and Bunnymund ( _who apparently was quite the scholar, who knew?_ ) had put a LOT more thought into it.

And it was only a few months later when the Big Five were called back together. 

North looks serious, but Bunnymund is practically bouncing around with glee.

Jack is...apprehensive.

“Un...seal him?”

North nods, “It is complicated process, but relatively simple spell. Bunny is one who found it. Pitch, he is merely a walking gathering, so-”

“So you break up the gathering! Send the little blighters scattering off back to where they belong! And that’s it!”

Tooth looks as unsure about this as Jack feels at least. “Bunny...can we even do that? I don’t like Pitch as much as anyone but we need to keep things balanced.”

“Pitch ain’t natural Tooth! The fearlings aren’t gettin’ destroyed, they’re being disbanded! It’s not getting rid of the fear, it’s just makin’ it less focused, makin’ it more like the way it was supposed to be!”

Jack still doesn’t feel quite right about this...but he’s also new. And he has a feeling that trying to defend Pitch won’t go over too well. 

Which makes sense, he figures. He didn’t even see Pitch at his worst, didn’t see what he had been capable of when he was powerful. 

So he doesn’t say anything, he just chews his lips in worry while the others plan.

It seems way too easy when they actually go through with it.

It’s easy to corner Pitch in his lair, he’s a lot weaker now and only yells in rage from the shadow he’s backed up into. Jack can only wince from where he is behind the Guardians while Pitch snarls and hisses helplessly at them.

He shouldn’t feel guilty, he reminds himself. Pitch isn’t really a person right? He’s a puppet, a bunch of things making one body move. 

That doesn’t help when the screaming starts. 

It doesn’t keep Jack from having to turn away and cover his ears to stop from being sick when he actually hears the single scream start fracturing, turning into shrieks from thousands of shadows as they scatter.

He feels Tooth’s small arm come around his shoulders and he huddles into her, trying to focus on her rapid heartbeat instead of the way the shadows are writhing and screaming into the air as they rip away from the convulsing THING that had been Pitch.

[ ](http://s42.photobucket.com/user/Nuhor/media/blubber_zps4b05446a.jpg.html)

Finally it stops, and Jack is left with the sound of his own gasping as he slowly lowers his hands from his ears. The echoes of the last fearling are dying on the air and it’s all so strange.

That’s it.

It’s over now. Their greatest threat has literally been scattered to the wind.

He had expected to hear cries of celebration, but the dark room ( _less dark now, he notices_ ) is filled with a heavy, tense silence.

He looks up and can immediately see why.

They never really knew what would be left after the fearlings scattered. The main guesses were either nothing or the remnants of whatever body they had taken.

But Jack can see Pitch, whole and lying on the ground. And breathing.

Something is wrong. Something is really, really wrong. Jack can only see one outflung hand, but the skin is lighter. It’s still stone grey but it’s not smudged with coal-like nightmare sand now. There’s an almost silvery quality to it ( _‘Like it’s lit by the moon’, Jack thinks, and he feels insane for even considering that._ )

And Pitch’s robe doesn’t do that odd blend into his body. It’s a simple black coat now, frayed and worn around the edges.

Everyone stays back, staring in shock at where Pitch is sprawled.

Then he moves. 

There’s a collective inhale, a tensing all around while they watch in horrified fascination.

It’s a slow, shaking movement as he pulls his arms in under him with a groan. He seems weak, impossibly weak and barely pushes himself up with another pained sound.

He just sits there then, holding himself up on his hands. His head is bowed, like it’s too heavy, and Jack can see the way his body trembles. They’re just small little shakes, like earthquakes, that start at his center and move out until it looks like his arms are barely holding him up.

[ ](http://s42.photobucket.com/user/Nuhor/media/heyhellooo_zpsf16c4208.jpg.html)

Jack breaks away from the group, ignoring the hissed warnings as he slowly walks towards Pitch. As he gets closer, he can see the delicate embroidered patterns picked out in gold at the edges of the long coat.

Pitch’s whole frail form is shaking now, and Jack can hear the way his breath is hitching in quick, shallow inhales. He doesn’t know what’s happening doesn’t know whether to reach out or not.

“Pitch?”

Pitch’s head flies up with a pained gasp and Jack nearly falls backwards. It’s still Pitch’s face, but his skin is indeed lighter, cleaner and an almost translucent pale grey. But it’s his eyes that get Jack. They’re not that odd, gleaming grey-silver-gold ( _Jack could never figure out what color Pitch’s eyes were supposed to be_ ), they’re just gold now. Almost as gold and bright as Sandy’s body.

And they’re wide and brimmed with tears and so completely and utterly terrified that Jack feels his lungs clench up.

“What am I?”

[ ](http://s42.photobucket.com/user/Nuhor/media/stoveNOOO_zpsb2556205.jpg.html)

Jack almost doesn’t hear it. Pitch’s voice is already cracked and hoarse from screaming and he whispers it so quietly.

Jack cautiously edges closer.

“What did you say?”

“What am I!?” Pitch nearly screams it this time. He looks like he’s falling apart, like he’s breaking more than he was when he was actually falling apart. Jack grips his staff, he doesn’t know what to do doesn’t know how to even begin to handle this.

“Pitch, what-”

Pitch yanks back like he’s been physically struck. “Don’t!” He curls in on himself, hands shaking again as they cover his head like he’s trying to block Jack out. “Don’t call me that!”

What does he do, what CAN he do? Jack slowly crouches down by....Pitch? But maybe not. What was he...

He sucks in a breath when he thinks, ‘ _Maybe the body wasn’t dead when the fearlings took it.’_

He feels sick. Bites his lip while he looks at what Pitch USED to be. At what the fearlings had taken and destroyed.

And now Jack and the rest of them were left with the pieces. How much of this was Pitch? He looked like Pitch, his voice was the same, but everything else...

“What...what do I call you?”

Pitch ( _Not Pitch, Jack corrects himself_ ) stays where he is, knees tucked up and head clutched between his hands. He’s still shuddering in small shocks and barely breathing without hyperventilating.

Jack is starting to think that the man didn’t hear him, when his voice finally cracks through the shallow gasps. It’s a small whisper again, and sounds like he’s almost ashamed to say it. Like saying it is the most painful thing he’s done.

“Kozmotis...”

Jack just stares, mouth opening and shutting on something to say. He sees Tooth start to move forward and waves them all back. This guy...Kozmotis, doesn’t seem like he’d take crowding too well right now.

“Okay....okay...so, Kozmotis.” It’s a weird name, it’s not like any name Jack’s ever heard before. Who was this guy? What had happened to him? “Do you remember anything?”

The man - Kozmotis - looks at Jack over the tops of his hands, eyes wide and confused and Jack still can’t stop thinking of this guy as Pitch. It’s just unsettling, seeing Pitch’s features so creased with terror and so obviously disoriented.

“I don’t-” Pi-...Kozmotis’ brows crease as he begins to look around. “Where- where am I? I was-...” Jack quickly steps back as the man starts to push himself onto his feet, leaning heavily on the wall. He looks like he’s about to collapse any second, moving slowly along the wall as he stares up and around at Pitch’s lair ( _his lair?_ )

“Okay easy there. Don’t worry if you can’t remember it’s okay.” Jack tries to sound as soothing as he can, tries to get the guy to just stop and sit and calm down so they can all DO something about it.

“Jack! What is happening?” He winces a bit, though North keeps his voice as low as he can.

“I don’t know! He says his name is Kozmotis? I don’t think this is Pitch.”

He notices Sandy’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t worry about that right now. He can ask later. Bunnymund however, just scowls in confusion. “If he ain’t Pitch who the bloody hell is he?”

The ‘he’ in question was still stumbling along the wall, Jack can hear bits of him muttering and tries to keep close and make sure their new problem doesn’t go wandering off. “I don’t know okay! I don’t even know if HE knows!”

“Why are the cages empty?” It’s said so softly and in such a low, hoarse voice that Jack almost doesn’t hear it. He turns and Kozmotis ( _he’s still not used to that name, what kind of name WAS that?_ ) is staring out over the endless cavern of hanging cages.

“The cages?” As far as Jack knew they were just there for creepy decoration.

“They’re... Where are... They shouldn’t be empty what happened what-” Kozmotis is sounding more and more agitated, running a hand over his face as his eyes dart about. “Where are they? I don’t...” He winces, as if trying to remember is physically painful. “I was looking-... Where...”

“Hey it’s okay, just calm down. We’ll get this figured out and-”

Kozmotis’ eyes suddenly go wide and vacant. And completely panicked. “Where is she?”

She?

“Who?” Jack doesn’t like where this is going. Doesn’t like the way Kozmotis starts shaking where he’s leaning on the wall.

“Where is she where is she?! No, no I need-...” He pushes from the wall, stumbling a few steps as he looks out over the cages. “They took her! No nononono what happened I don’t-where is she no what happened!”

Jack quickly flies over to his side. “Calm down! Who is she? Um, maybe we can help? You just need to-”

“I need to find her, I need to find her they took her! I was looking, I was trying to find her and-” Kozmotis tries to take another step, tries and fails as his legs buckle under him and he falls like a puppet with its strings cut. He curls in on himself where he falls, seemingly unaware of Jack hovering over him.

“Guys! Guys ok can uh... you can come over here now, I don’t know what to do! He lost someone? I don’t know! He’s freaking out!”

Tooth comes up first, putting a hand on his shoulder while she watches Pit-Kozmotis with wide eyes. North comes up next, holding a hand out like he’s approaching a wild animal as he talks softly.

“We need to get him out of here. This, we were not expecting. Bunny and I thought it would just be poof! No more body! This is...”

Kozmotis goes still, still as stone and his voice comes out a low, dangerous hiss. “Get away from me....”

Everyone tenses, Tooth’s hand clenching on Jack’s shoulder while Bunnymund and North slowly reach for their weapons. Sandy frowns, but doesn’t call out his sandwhips. ( _Jack has a feeling Sandy has an idea what’s going on, but he’ll ask about that later. Right now they need to deal with this Pitch who isn’t Pitch._ )

“Jack,” Bunnymund approaches slowly, boomerang out. “You sure this ain’t Pitch?”

“All I know is that he said his name was Ko-”

“Get AWAY from me!” Kozmotis ( _though it looks like Pitch now, the skin and eyes are still wrong but Jack knows that snarl_ ) throws himself back up onto his feet, backing away from the Guardians with bared teeth and wild eyes. “What did you do to me!?”

Okay...so maybe this was still Pitch? He definitely looks like it, raged and hissing even though the shadows aren’t coming to him. Pitch-Kozmotis-whoever, backs away towards the wall, hand tensing oddly out to his side.

It takes a few minutes for Jack to recognize the movement. He’s seen Pitch do that several times, reach out and flex his hand and instantly close it around a scythe made of darkness. At least it’s not working anymore, so Jack will be glad for that. The last thing they need is a delirious and confused Pitch with a weapon.

“Ok Kozmotis just-... It’s ok. We’re not going to hurt you.” Jack cautiously steps towards where the man’s backed up into the wall. “It’s Kozmotis right? That’s your name?” Pitch... Kozmotis’ eyes dart over to Jack, the snarl is still there but he’s starting to look unsure again. Jack keeps talking, “Right, it’s Kozmotis, that’s what you told me. Who were you looking for? Maybe we can help?”

Pitchmotis ( _Jack really needs to figure out WHO this guy really is_ ) slowly deflates, eyes darting between Jack, the Guardians, and the hanging cages. “No, nono they took her I couldn’t stop them I couldn’t find her.” He leans against the wall again, looking lost. “I have to find her! I need... Where is she where’s my princess...”

Jack steps closer as Kozmopitch sinks down again, grabbing at his hair like he’s trying to pull the memories out. “Where is she I need...” His voices goes distant and quiet, it sounds like an echo, like the whimpering of a child. “I need to find her-- Daddy’s coming daddy’s coming just wait I’ll... No I failed I- They took her! They got out they got out I let them out-”

Jack’s gut clenches, he feels sick and can hear Tooth’s sharp gasp behind him.

 _Daddy?_ Pitch was a dad? But how long ago was that? What had happened?

Kozmotis curls in on himself again, hands clutching his head and body shaking. “No no no no nonono she’s gone!” His voice cracks, breaks on a dry heave of breath that looks like it tears through his whole body. “I let them out I let them out I failed and she’s gone what happened no nono I don’t want-I don’t want to see, I don’t want to know! Stop stop stop!”

Jack doesn’t know what to do. The man is shaking and hyperventilating and sounds completely SHATTERED and Jack can’t do anything but stare in shock and be completely useless. 

Luckily Sandy snaps out of the stunned silence and carefully floats over to the sobbing man. Jack has never seen Sandy look so sad and pitying as he brings up a small wisp of sand. It curls towards Kozmotis-Pitch, brushes over his face and winds around him as the trembles die and his sharp gasps calm and even out.

Sandy helps ease the man down onto the ground while another tense and heavy silence falls over them.

“Ok...” Jack finally says. “I take it that wasn’t supposed to happen?”

“Who the hell is this!?” Bunnymund replies. That answers that question.

“He said his name was Kozmotis.” Jack doesn’t look away from the prone figure on the ground. Or, more accurately, he doesn’t look away from the golden butterflies softly fluttering over his head.

He had seen those before, and had thought it was funny at first. But now he can’t help but wonder about them. “Sandy...why do both of them dream of butterflies?”

Sandy just shakes his head sadly. This definitely isn’t over, Jack’s gonna get some answers out of him after they figure this mess out.

“Pitch wasn’t supposed to still be here!” Bunnymund looks ready to tear his fur out and North is just frowning in thought.

“I don’t think it’s Pitch, Bunny.” Tooth says, fluttering over to look down at the man. “He did give a different name.”

“That sure as bloody hell looked like Pitch trying to pull that damn scythe of his out on us!”

“But he could not.” Noth finally says. “So Pitch or no, the spell did work in some way. He no longer is a threat it seems.”

“Yeah but now what do we do with him?” Jack resists the urge to prod at the Not-Pitch with his staff. He doubts the man would be able to sleep through a small coat of frost and Jack doesn’t want to deal with more of... All that emotion.

“We can’t leave him here.” Tooth says. She’s peering down into Not-Pitch’s face and Jack gets the feeling that she’s trying to look into his mouth as if that will tell her what she needs to know.

“Damned right we can’t.” Bunnymund growls, “I wouldn’t let the bastard out of my sight. Even if he ain’t Pitch, he obviously isn’t right in the head and was all too ready to attack us.”

Jack frowns, still watching the circling butterflies. “He was scared. He was... I think he had lost a kid or something, right before the fearlings somehow got him.”

That quiets Bun up, though he still frowns at Kozmotis suspiciously.

Sandy raises a hand to get their attention and quickly goes into a blur of pictures. Jack can’t even follow most of them, he catches a strange star symbol and then what looks like a cartoon castle before he loses track of the images entirely.

North brightens up though, so at least someone was able to follow that. “Are you sure Sandy? It is a good idea, he would do well there.”

Jack frowns again ( _he definitely DOES NOT pout_ ), he never did like feeling out of the loop. “Do what where now?”

“Sandy’s castle!” Tooth says excitedly. She then blinks, her bright smile giving way to a surprised look at Sandy. “Sandy are you sure? You’re really busy!”

Sandy gives her a look that clearly expresses what he thinks about her doubt. Jack is momentarily distracted from the Kozmopitch problem and raises his eyebrows. “Sandy has a castle?”

Why did everyone have castles? Or palaces or workshops that were practically palaces on their own.

Well, Bun had a hole in the ground. But it was a really impressive one.

Sandy grins and nods brightly, another series of images flashing above his head as he carefully lifts Kozmopitch ( _Jack needs to decide on a name at some point_ ) up on a small cloud of golden sand.

It still doesn’t seem real. Jack feels like it was a lifetime ago that they had Pitch snarling and hissing at them from the shadows, hands clawed and eyes flashing in the sparse light.

And now Pitch was lying in front of him, pale and brittle and... No longer Pitch. Someone else was there. Someone who had snarled in rage just like Pitch...

But who had also cried out for what sounded like a child.

Jack shudders and looks away, he doesn’t really want to think about the possibilities of Pitch once being a father.

“He looks so peaceful.” Tooth says quietly next to him.

“For now.” Bunnymund growls.

Jack for once finds that he has absolutely nothing to say. Everything is still sinking in and he can’t work out what he’s even feeling about all of this mess.

The sand shifts, rises up around Kozmopitch’s body and Sandy lifts off of the ground.

“You will keep us updated yes Sandy?” North asks. “Let us know anything that happens!”

Sandy nods and gives an “ok” sign, smiling slightly though he’s watching his new charge with tired eyes.

There’s a swirl of sand, blurring up around the two figures and just like that

They’re gone.

*****

[ ](http://s42.photobucket.com/user/Nuhor/media/flapflap_zpsd859163e.jpg.html)

****

After that was a bit of a blur really. There was more talking, most of which Jack didn’t pay attention to.

They would all keep in contact, all keep each other updated. But other than that...

Well they couldn’t stop their work. Another night was coming and children needed to be taken care of.

So they go their separate ways, continue bringing joy to kids, and life goes on.

It was kind of the most anti-climactic “final battle” Jack has ever witnessed.

He tries not to think about it too much as he travels with the winds. But it’s too strange, thinking that there is no Pitch Black lurking in the shadows anymore. And instead, there’s a man somewhere in Sandy’s castle, who looks like Pitch but somehow isn’t.

He gets updates mainly from his run-ins with Tooth. Besides him and Sandy, she does the most travelling since she decided to do more “field work.” North and Bunnymund are prepping for their big days and Sandy is either flying around in a hurry or tending to his unexpected guest.

For the first several months it sounds like the same general news. Sandy isn’t letting anyone see the guy, who apparently spends most of his time screaming anyway.

Which is something Jack is ok not visiting, to be fair.

But things start looking better. Screaming eventually gives way to actual coherent conversation. 

It’s been almost a year when a small meeting is called.

“So?” Jack prompts, “What’s he like?”

Sandy had started allowing visitors recently, spaced out and carefully guarded in case his guest had what they were calling “an episode.” Tooth and North had already been, though Bunnymund was still busy getting ready for the rapidly approaching Easter.

“Well he... Isn’t quite what I expected. Though I’ll admit that I didn’t really know what to expect.” Tooth starts. She flutters a little nervously, chewing her lip in thought. “He was really tense the entire time and obviously didn’t want me there. I think we only talked for about ten minutes at most. It was really hard to get a good reading on him though, he was so uptight the whole time.” She pauses, eyes going distant as she thinks back.

“There was one bit though... When he got really quiet and just... Sat there. He looked like Pitch all of a sudden. I can’t explain it, it’s like everything went dark and he just got... focused.” Her feathers ruffle and she shakes herself out of the memory. “Then he kinda shook himself out of it and was back to being nervous and wound up. He seems ok but... I wouldn’t say he’s exactly stable.”

North nods, stroking his beard. “He was not so bad when I talked to him, though he also did not really appreciate the visit. I am thinking he’s having troubles with memories, must be difficult so I am willing to give him time.”

Jack nods, twirling his staff. He’s really feeling kind of useless here, he has no idea what they’re talking about really. “So when’s my turn to visit the new guy?”

The other two get suspiciously quiet, sharing a look.

“Jack...” North begins, and he can already hear the apology there. Oh this can’t be for real. “We are not sure it is a good idea, you visiting.”

“What!? Come on! It’s not like I’m in danger! I was the only one who could really fight Pitch at first if you don’t remember!”

He doesn’t really like bringing that up, but REALLY! He doesn’t want to be left out here!

Tooth sighs and zips over to him, putting a placating hand on his shoulder. “Jack we just don’t know how stable he is! This isn’t really Pitch but we don’t know how much of Pitch is left in there! And Pitch-”

“Pitch was not safe with you, Jack.” North says carefully. “We are not sure how why, but you said he wanted you on his side and the man was always... Very determined.”

Jack nearly throws his staff up in frustration. “He wanted me to be his buddy, ONCE! I said no, he threw a tantrum, and I never heard of it again! And I don’t see what the big deal is!”

“You’re still not in your full power as a Guardian!” Tooth says, she’s obviously worried about this, and Jack still doesn’t get WHY. “Pitch always focused his attacks on you after that Easter battle Jack, you had to have noticed! He never really forgave you for choosing us and we don’t know if seeing you will do anything with Kozmotis’ recovery!”

“This is stupid!” Jack snaps. It’s not that he was THAT intent on seeing the new guy, he just hates that he’s being left out! And for such a dumb reason!

“Just be patient Jack.” North says calmly. “You will have your time. But for now we must ‘play it safe’ as they say, yes?”

“Yeah.” Jack mutters. “Fine. Ok. I’ll wait.”  


****

[ ](http://s42.photobucket.com/user/Nuhor/media/flake_zps70875460.jpg.html)

****

It wasn’t nearly as hard finding Sandy’s castle as he thought it would be. All he had to do was follow one of the thin streams of sand on it’s winding way back to the source.

It was a long journey over an impossible expanse of ocean, Jack was starting to wonder if he had gotten himself well and truly lost when he saw the gleam of gold on the horizon.

“Heh, cute.” He grins at the approaching site of what can only be called a castle-boat. It’s an immense thing that defies any real logic. It looks more like it GREW instead of being built. A huge ship with sweeping curves and arches that meld seamlessly into a palace where there should be a deck. Jack thought it was like a boat had decided to be a castle halfway through but couldn't make it's mind up about it.

Jack can see swirling images on the sides of the ship and up the towers and walls of the castle, things that get lost if he looks at them too hard. The whole thing is sculpted from gleaming, luminous golden sand.

And if he looks too close he starts getting a headache when he notices that the _whole thing_ is constantly shifting. Staircases changing and and walls moving slowly as if in thought. 

Jack watches in fascination for a bit, it’s like the whole thing is _alive._

[ ](http://s42.photobucket.com/user/Nuhor/media/castle_zpsafce4bd4.jpg.html)

That’ll certainly make his search interesting.

But Jack is anything if not stubborn, so he sets off and starts circling the towers, checking in on all the large, round windows. He’s not even sure the guy is being kept in a place Jack could find but hey, he’s not gonna just let this rest without trying.

Really, the others should have known better than to tell him he couldn’t do something.

He spends nearly a whole day flying around the castle and is just about to give up when he spots a figure in a window a little ways away.

“Gotcha.” He whispers to himself, grin growing wide. He rushes over and perches on a ledge on top of the window, peering down into the room.

The guy, Kozmo, Pitch, whatever, doesn’t even notice him. Even though he’s sitting right there in the windowsill with Jack only a couple feet away. He’s completely absorbed in some thick book perched up on his knees, frowning in concentration as his fingers tap along the edges.

Jack takes the chance to watch him for a few moments. It’s just...so weird. Pitch’s lanky form is wearing normal clothes for one. Well, normal-ish. They're a bit formal for Jack’s taste. The man's wearing a tailored, high collared coat that fits in sharp, clean lines down to mid-thigh and is such a deep blue that it’s almost black. Jack can see flashes of intricate gold embroidery along the hems of the coat but can’t make out any particular pattern to it. Jack can see the edges of a cream and gold undershirt and Pitch’s weird shadow tights deal have been replaced with plain, dark pants and what look suspiciously like a pair of riding boots.

Where was this guy even GETTING these get ups? Was Sandy somehow making them? Jack shrugs the question off and looks around the room. It’s spacious, airy and all colored with dark, royal blues, satiny cream whites and golds. There’s an impressive set of bookshelves, even a couch and large overstuffed reading chair. Not too bad at all.

He looks back at the strange man wearing Pitch’s face, who hasn’t even looked up from his book. The thing must be fascinating.

“Good book?” Jack finally asks, unable to contain himself anymore.

Not-Pitch jumps about a foot in the air and the book nearly goes sailing at Jack’s head.

There’s an explosive flurry of flying arms and legs as the man scrambles at the book to keep it from flying off into the ocean and ends up clutching it to his chest, staring at Jack with wide eyes.

Ok then.

Jack grins in what he hopes is a comforting way and the guy’s eyes just go a bit wider at that, still clutching the book to his chest.

“Ha! I’m not used to being the one startling you instead of the other way around! This is nice!” Pitch had always had a nasty habit of popping up right behind Jack to threaten and hiss in his ear. Got him almost every time with that.

And that was one of the most impressive startled flailings Jack has seen. He’s still chuckling to himself as he flips down and lands in the room ( _ignoring the small strangled noise of protest from the window_ ), pivoting on the spot to get a better look.

He can see a door to what looks like a bathroom and a bedroom area, more blues and golds and whites and what looks like MORE bookshelves.

Then he notices that there are no other doors. Nothing to the outside except a window that’s almost a mile above flat ocean.

He whistles to himself as he turns to look back at Not-Pitch, who is still staring at Jack with wide eyes and clutching the book to his chest like it’s a shield.

“They really keep you locked up in here, huh?”

The man just blinks owlishly at him, looking like Jack is some monster that just popped into his room. His golden eyes are darting from Jack to the window and if anything he’s just looking more and more freaked out as Jack smiles at him.

Weird.

“You really don’t talk as much as you used to. I can go with this, it’s a nice change of pace, being able to get a few words in.”

That seems to snap the man out of whatever weird trance he was in. He inhales sudden and deep as if he had stopped breathing for a second and stands quickly, nearly falling over as he backs away from Jack until he hits a wall.

Then keeps going along the wall until he’s over on the other end of the room. Jack watches in fascination as Not-Pitch eyes him like a dangerous beast to keep far away from.

“Mainly came by to say hi.” Jack continues. Is he really this terrifying? “I know the other guys were stopping in to check up on the leftovers of their project and figured I’d join the party. By the way, we haven’t been properly introduced,” He walks up and holds a hand out to Not-Pitch. “The name’s Jack Frost.”

Not-Pitch just cringes away, fingers clutching white at the book and staring at the proffered hand like it’s deadly. “We’re already quite well acquainted, Frost.”

Jack nearly yanks back, it sounds like Pitch even the way he says Jack’s NAME is just like Pitch. Same inflections same soft but dangerous growl. He has to remind himself not to bring his staff up, that this isn’t Pitch.

And besides, now he at least knows that it can speak!

“Well, me and the other guy, yeah. I only got a quick mention of your name when you were wheezing it.” Which was followed by a lot of yelling and screaming but Jack is polite enough to not mention that.

“Kozmotis...” The man says cautiously. He then frowns and continues, “and there was no ‘other guy’, only me.”

Jack shrugs, watching as Kozmotis sidles away again, approaching the bookshelves like they’ll save him from the terror that is Jack.

“You were going by a different name and were slightly more crazy. Well,” He pauses, staring as Kozmotis actually grabs onto the huge, HEAVY reading chair and drags it between them as he goes towards the shelves. Kozmotis pauses long enough to glare at Jack over the top of the ridiculously overstuffed furniture before shuffling out from behind it.

Only to grab the couch. Jack just watches with wide eyes as Kozmotis succeeds in making a furniture barrier to keep the scary Jack away.

[ ](http://s42.photobucket.com/user/Nuhor/media/goawaaaaay_zpsb7043b71.jpg.html)

“I assume you were more crazy...than you are now?” Jack finishes, staring as Kozmotis backs up behind his protective wall of furniture.

Oh what the hell.

Kozmotis just starts eyeing the shelf like it’s perfectly normal to drag furniture around when going to put a book away.

“Yes well. You’ve introduced yourself now, so you can go. I can’t give any promise as to my mental state,” as if on cue he does a strange shudder, nearly dropping the book he’s putting up. “But I can assure you that I don’t plan on destroying anything soon if that’s what you’re concerned with.”

Jack’s about to say that he really wasn’t too concerned, especially with how Kozmotis is apparently TERRIFIED of him, but stops as Kozmotis does another full body shudder. The man sucks in a breath like he’s centering himself and lets it out slow, every one of his muscles going tense.

“You should go.” His voice sounds strained, like he’s barely keeping himself from running.

“Wait, what?” Jack frowns, he was only starting! “Come on! I just got here! I heard Tooth managed a whole ten minutes before things got too awkward!”

Kozmotis’ jaw clenches and he glares at the shelf, refusing to look at Jack. “You will have to find some other record to break. Leave.”

Jack blinks, Kozmotis is looking pale, his hands are shaking as they clench on the spine of the book that he put on the shelf a while ago. He takes a cautious step closer, feeling worried, the guy doesn’t look too good. “Are you alright?”

“Yes I am perfectly fine!” Kozmotis snaps, stepping away as Jack steps closer. Jack stops, Kozmotis looks even more strained now, like he’s in physical pain. Maybe Jack shouldn’t have made that leftover joke? He can never tell what is and isn’t ok to say.

“You know, I didn’t really mean it earlier right? About you just being leftovers? I mean it’s more like Pitch was the leftovers of you right?”

That was about right wasn’t it? Pitch was what was left when this guy was taken over by fearlings. It doesn’t seem to comfort Kozmotis any, he just keeps breathing slow and even and carefully controlled.

“Yes thank you but my poor delicate feelings are stronger than that. Now please. Get out.”

“Do you need me to go get Sandy? I mean if you need any help-”

Kozmotis whips around lightning fast, golden eyes blazing and hands curled at his sides ( _not clawed, Jack notes, so that’s something_ ). “GET OUT!” he roars, practically shaking on the spot now as he snarls at Jack.

Jack jumps back slightly. “Ok! Ok wow! I’m going I’m going!” He can take a hint!

He heads back to the window, feeling Kozmotis’ glare on him the whole way. It was weird, so weird. That snarl was Pitch. That had Pitch written all over it, even the clawed hands and blazing eyes.

But it wasn’t Pitch.

He hops up onto the window, turning to give Kozmotis one last, considering look, “Y’know, if it makes you feel better, you’re not nearly as good at that whole angry growling thing as Pitch was. I give that one a four out of ten.” He grins and waves his fingers in a mock salute, “See ya!”

And then he hops out, leaving Kozmotis gaping after him. 

As far as first meetings go it wasn’t the most stellar. Awkward didn’t even cover that mess. But it wasn’t the catastrophe Tooth and North were worried about!

Maybe he should stop by again sometime. The guy had to be going nuts locked away up there by himself.

Jack grins as he flies off over the ocean, if nothing else, this was something new. Someone new to bother and talk to and visit.

This was something _fun._


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just a quick note that my background for Kozmotiz/Pitch in this verse is a muddled and confused mix of the movies, books, and my own headcanons! I pull a bit from all three.
> 
> Also, because I am out of control, have a playlist.
> 
> http://8tracks.com/lin-d-z/you-are-_________

 

  
[ ](http://s42.photobucket.com/user/Nuhor/media/flutterby_zps28748bac.jpg.html)

*****

They are _rage._

They scream and howl against their new prison. Tear at the walls of this body.

_rip it_

_s h r e d_

Absorb take it down get out get out they can feel every detail in the pile of flesh that holds them and makes them move legs of bone and sinew and makes them breathe through a throat down into lungs in and out  and  in    out     in       out          in.

                    While a pulse

                                                beats

                                against ribs that hold in the lungs and heart and fleshy pulsating organs made of meat

                                        and blood.

They are physical

                           they are _trapped._

The Enemy is gone. They had done well and tricked it and brought it to them. They had meant to make it of them and absorb it into the swarm.

 

The Enemy is gone, but used it’s last trick well.

 

And they are trapped.

 

They howl their rage into the sky and move the body, stumble with legs that fold and buckle.

 

Need out, they need out. Need. _Out._

They cannot move in the space between the stars, cannot go into the areas where there is no time or will themselves elsewhere. They do not know how limited they are yet.

Everything

                    is                       limited.

 

They leave the old prison in their new prison, shrieking their anger against the air and against the flesh that holds them.

              Escape escape they need out _(get out get out get out OUT OUT ESCAPE)_

They hiss, snarl as a large metal vessel lands on the wasteland of their prison world.

  Ship.

_Escape_

They need the ship they do not know how they know this-their ship- _my ship_ -escape.

 

_(My ship...)_

There are others, other enemies coming out at them, lining up against them and they can smell the fear,

                     they can FEEL it in the air.

Fear spiced with a tiny doubt and soured with a little bit of hope. But the fear is there. They have gotten out, they have destroyed The Enemy and the others know it.

One Enemy stands in front of the others, _(‘Pooka’, says a new knowledge in them, this Enemy is a Pooka)._

There is something about this Enemy, they cannot say from where but he is known he is familiar _(get away get out get out away away away get away out out out OUT!)_

He is afraid. Moreso than the others. The others are anxious and nervous but this one, this one is courageous and terrified and it’s sweet in the air. His fear is a banquet even to their dulled tastes.

“Koz?” The Enemy asks. “Koz what’s going on? We got your signal, what happened here?”

He is afraid.

They hiss again, feel the fear grow with the sound. They are trapped and limited but the fear still feeds them, still makes them hunger for more.

“Koz don’t do this! For the love of the Stars say something!”

They feel the air in their throat, work it around the strange muscles and cartilage and ligament that limits them. There is only one voice they can use now.

They force the air through, weave it around the strange mouth and speak with the voices of the swarm.

“We        do  not      know a Koz.”

The fear is amazing. Oh how it spikes when they speak. How it crests and grows in flavor. It escalates to pure horror, spiced with disbelief and sweetly flavored with despair.

“Stars no Koz, no-”

They need the ship _(my ship my ship escape get out get out GET OUT **ESCAPE** )._ And these enemies are in their way.

A weapon, they need a weapon, something to rip and slice and remove everything in their way. It’s barely a thought, but the dark still does their bidding. Forms in their muscled and boned hand into something long with a blade _(it is familiar in their grip, something about the weight that suits them. It is a long pole with a long blade and they approve of this weapon.)_

[ ](http://s42.photobucket.com/user/Nuhor/media/bzzz_zps075c7e87.jpg.html)

They make the air work in their throat again. Hiss out with all of their voices and make themselves known.

 

_“We are                   the pitch black                                   between the stars.”_

 

 

 

*****

[ ](http://s42.photobucket.com/user/Nuhor/media/compilation_zps465c13d6.jpg.html)

*****

He dreams of butterflies.

This is nothing new. They are always waiting for him on the rare occasions that he’s actually unconscious.

There is nothing but a column of butterflies around him. A curving column rising around him as high as he can see. They fence him in, flashes of gold so dense that he can't see anything past them. The air is still and silent except for the faint rustling of wings and his own steady breathing.

There's an odd anxiety in the back of his mind though, the feeling that he's being kept from seeing something beyond the wall.

It plucks at his peace, the thought is the high whining buzz of an insect that he can't swat away. The idea that there is something else, that he is fenced in and blinded by the constant movement of golden bright wings.

But he is alright with that.

He doesn’t want to see what is past the shimmering wall. He's happier not knowing whatever it is they hide from him.

These are not exactly _good_ dreams, he doesn’t have those of course.

But they are calming. He sits and is mesmerized by the patterns traced in gold on gold within every wing.

Sometimes he does wonder what is on the other side of the gently curving golden walls. He never tries to look though, knows that it’s better if he doesn’t.

But.....

Something is wrong this time.

Pitch is pulled from his usual blank calm when one of the butterflies falls. He doesn't even notice it coming down until it lands in front of him and struggles weakly. The wings buzz uselessly against the white floor, thin gold chiming like bells as the little thing tries to lift itself. It finally gives a shudder, a dainty convulsion, before going still.

He stares at the tiny body for a few long moments, brow furrowed as his hand slowly reaches out, fingers trembling as he picks it up. He cradles the body carefully in his hands, peering down closely at it.

It’s like a little clockwork creature, made from impossibly small flowing pieces of gold fitting together like puzzle. He runs his finger along the edge of a wing, barely flinching when it slices into the pad and the blood wells up onto the gold.

_(He doesn’t think about the fact that he’s never bled before. That there is no blood in him to give, there’s nothing but shadow.)_

There's the delicate clinking of another body falling, another tiny butterfly clattering down to the ground. His head jerks up to stare at it for a few moments, frowning in thought.

Then another drops. And another.

Pitch looks up, stares with wide eyes at the small gaps appearing in the wall. Spaces between the struggling wings where he can see flashes of color and shape.

They’ve always kept him in. Always kept him from seeing. He was always content simply kneeling in the middle of the column, silent and watching.

Another butterfly crashes down.

He stands up. Slowly walks towards the wall, staring at the growing spaces as more butterflies fall.

He’s afraid.

He’s _terrified._

[ ](http://s42.photobucket.com/user/Nuhor/media/omfg_zps403f461b.jpg.html)

Even as he reaches towards the spaces, the fear claws at his ribs. Screams at him to stop. Its better in the middle, better within the walls. Where he can’t see. Where he doesn’t know. It’s better to stay safe and watch the golden wings.

He leans towards the wall, breath catching shallow in his chest while the terror floods him.

He looks through the spaces.

He sees-

_-There’s a sea of color as far as he can see. More butterflies than there are stars in the sky and flashes of every color of the universe._

_He’s not paying attention to that. Seraphina is smiling so bright as she watches the sea of wings and she’s laughing in delight and he can’t even look at the wonder before him. There’s nothing but her smile and her laugh as she twirls and is surrounded by a column of the butterflies there’s nothing but color and her laughter and if there’s one thing he’ll never forget_

_never_

_forget_

_The way she would pout her lips as she concentrated on carefully weaving the flowers together into ornate crowns or how she could find delight in the smallest blade of grass or her wild energy as she ran through the trees of their home and tore through the hills. She was his wild spirit his everything his life she was the reason he kept fighting. He could swear his oaths to the Lunanoff’s and pledge himself to the elder stars but he knew why he was really fighting because he’d never forget......._

_nev e r_

_Never forget the look on his Second’s face when they received the orders. When Kozmotis told him and watched the Pooka’s ears lay flat and his fur rise in anger._

_“Koz don’t accept this! They can’t make just one man do this! You’ll go mad in there!”_

_Sehstor always did worry far more than Kozmotis did. But that worry had led to the Pooka saving both their necks several times, which Sehstor never let him forget_

_He’d never forget................_

_Never forget her face when he has to tell her when he has to say “Daddy’s not coming home” but he’ll keep that face in his heart to remind him what he’s protecting to remind him why he’s there._

_Even as the centuries drag and the eons grow and he can feel his mind fraying he remembers that smile and then those tears in her eyes and remembers_

_to never_

_forget._

_And her voice calls to him and a part of him thinks “she sounds the same after all these years, she doesn’t sound a bit older.”_

_and part of him knows_

_but he needs to see her needs to save her._

_And he knows he knows even before the shadows build before him that it was a lie but he had hoped he had hoped_

_and the shadows close_

_and Kozmotis_

_forgets._

 

 

 

 

The first time Kozmotis wakes. He is screaming.

He screams until his voice his hoarse and screams while his hands claw at his scalp trying to get the memories out trying to not SEE anymore. He screams until golden sand winds over him and drifts over his eyes and even in his sleep he screams and tries to close the wall.

He wants to forget.

But the butterflies fall through his hands. They drop from above him like rain and their wings slice into his palm and slice into his mind and cut through his defences. They shatter as they hit the ground and he can see images in the bright flashes of the shards that they leave. He grabs at them and tries to put them back, back where they blocked him in and kept him from knowing, where they kept the memories away and he didn’t have to SEE.

He can see everything. He can see the look in his old friend’s eyes right before a scythe sliced through him.

He can see the worlds burning, hear the screams and he can see the same worlds bright and full of life as he smiles and walks through them. He can hear the laughter and hear the screaming echoing together all at once.

_The fear had been so sweet in the air it was almost decadent wherever they went there was shock and horror and despair after the fall of hope the hero was gone there was only them now._

There’s the rage at seeing the world forget him, at seeing more and more Guardians rise against only him and seeing everything he had fading away. He was alone in the world and constantly facing more adversaries, constantly losing power and he’s left with his mind and his nightmares and his shadows and the constant feeling that something is missing.

He forgot....

 

                           and he is being forgotten.

 

Pitch Black screams and Kozmotis screams and he tries and tries to fix the wall while the broken butterflies rain down around him.

 

 

The second time he wakes, there are a few minutes of bliss where he is not sure who or where he is.

There’s a room, gold and blue and white and it’s familiar. He recognizes this place, and wonders how long he has been asleep.

He’s sure it was only a few minutes ago? Or perhaps it was years.

He doesn’t remember lying down to take a nap. There is still sunlight through the window though, so it couldn’t have been too long.

He takes a few extra moments to enjoy the light _(for some reason it’s strange to him, he feels like it’s been so long since he’s seen it, which is an odd thought)_ and he thinks it’s unusual that Seraphina hasn’t jumped up to demand he get up and let her show him some new flower or insect she’s found outside.

She’d get dirt on the bed, she’s always covered in soil with twigs and leaves in her wild hair and sunlight in her bright eyes.

If she hasn’t popped up yet she’s probably still outside. If he looked out the window he could probably-

The window is the wrong shape.

He frowns at it for a few moments, wondering why it’s a circle, clear cut in the wall of his room.

Had he remembered wrong he was sure-

_Seraphina wasn’t here nothing was here he wasn’t home what was home home was a dark and spacious place deep deep below the earth somewhere away from the light away from anything that might make him remember he is safe deep deep in the dark places where the shadows hold him and keep him warm and cover his ears and his eyes._

Kozmotis gasps and scrambles back while he tries to gulp down air. He can’t get enough into his lungs and his lungs are BURNING in a way they never have before. The light is falling on him now and he curls away from it, wants to hiss and hide from it forever.

_She’s gone and it’s your fault look what you became look at what you are you can’t even face the sun anymore look how weak and pathetic and broken you failed you failed you failed you failed her!_

He can’t even scream as he covers his ears he didn’t want to remember he didn’t WANT to know his princess is gone, long gone to time and space and he never saw her smile again -

-never knew if she was on one of those screaming, burning worlds.

He can’t breathe he can’t get the air past his throat and he gasps - chokes, chokes on the air that burns and won’t go into his lungs.

He can’t feel any fear except his own, there is no other fear to shield him and cushion him from his mind now. No sweet terror to soak and sink into nothing he can drown himself in.

A small, round figure appears by the bed, by where he’s clutching his head and gasping and he knows this figure. It’s almost as old as him, this one knows this one understands.

“Sandy no I don’t want to know please please I don’t want to know-...” He tries to pull away tries to shield the light from his eyes but there are tiny hands, small and warm and far too strong as they carefully take his own hands and pull them away.

Make him see the light shining on him, make him see what’s in front of him. His eyes burn from it and his vision blurs as he gasps against everything flooding his mind.

He looks up into those sad golden eyes, doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to know why there’s wet running over his face or why he can’t stop shaking.

“I didn’t want to remember I didn’t want to know I want to forget I can’t I can’t look anymore Sandy please! I want them back I want the butterflies back put them back I know you can!”

The hands are pulling pulling him away pulling him up even as he begs him to stop and Sandy just shakes his head and pulls him up pulls him away from the shadows and ignores his pleas and sobs.

[ ](http://s42.photobucket.com/user/Nuhor/media/dontwannadance_zps67f63ba2.jpg.html)

“No no no Sandy don’t I can’t do this I can’t see her anymore I failed Sandy I failed!”

He’s dragged along, helpless and stumbling and Sandy is unstoppable. Nothing so small should be so strong but no matter how hard he pulls he can’t fight it.

“She’s GONE Sandy I didn’t want to see her and she’s gone and it’s my fault I didn’t want to know! Don’t make me see it I need you to put them back Sandy!”

And Sandy smiles.

And pulls him into the light.

 

*****

 

 

He hardly leaves the light now.

He doesn’t exactly feel comfortable in it. But that’s the point. He’s spent far too long hiding and now that he’s been dragged out he’s not about to turn back.

That was never Kozmotis’ style.

The window in his room _(prison)_ is large. A wide circle with a sill big enough for a few cushions and a place to sit. It’s become his usual place, making himself sit in the direct light and look out over the golden castle and endless blue ocean.

It’s easier than looking at the room. He thinks Sandy must have pulled it from his dreams, and he knows the dreamweaver meant well. In some ways it does put him at ease, seeing his old familiar space.

But other times it makes his skin crawl, makes him want to find the darkest area of the bright room and curl up there, makes him long for sharp shadows and vaulted ceilings.

So he stays in the light, forces himself away from those thoughts.

Sometimes the light burns.

It sears into his retinas and makes his skin feel like fire, it’s harsh and shows far too much.

But he stays there, he makes himself feel the searing pain of it.

It’s the least he deserves, after all.

 

 

*****

 

"And what am I supposed to do now?"  
  
He’s sitting in the window again, knees tucked up to his chest like a child as he looks out over the water.

[ ](http://s42.photobucket.com/user/Nuhor/media/buhuhu_zps33746374.jpg.html)

Sanderson shrugs, smiling slightly where he’s hovering just outside _(he isn’t doing it on purpose, Kozmotis reminds himself, he isn’t mocking the fact that Kozmotis has to stay here that’s not what Sandy does)_. Kozmotis can never say for certain what each of the images above Sandy’s head means, but he always understands.

“I can’t simply go back. I’m not even sure what I _am_ anymore. Am I supposed to just...go on and pick up where I left off? I don’t even know where THAT is.”

Was it at guarding a prison world, feeling his mind slowly fall apart?

Was it stewing in the darkness, planning his return, planning his revenge?

Sanderson shakes his head, more flashes of golden sand blurring above his head.

“How am I not supposed to worry? I dream and only see her face and when I’m awake I can only hear the screaming and sometimes I can’t tell which is actually pleasant for me!”

Sandy wants him to heal, wants him to move on and find a new life.

From WHAT? What can he build on, when there’s nothing but confusion and pain and light and dark at war in his head?

The anger starts so small he hardly notices it.

“You all ripped me apart and expect me to put myself back together?”

His voice is soft, calm as he stares at the glaring sun on the waves.

Sandy is shaking his head but he isn’t looking at that, can’t look at Sandy without the rage growing.

“You did this to me! A chance to finally rid the world of the thorn in your side wasn’t it? And now you get to deal with THIS!”

He can’t sit still can’t stop the energy thrumming through him making him get up and pace, making him move into a shadow in the room as the rage grows.

“So lock me up! It’s what I deserve isn’t it? Can’t be too careful, we wouldn’t want the boogeyman to come back!”

Stop stop he needs to stop needs to move back to the light but there’s the RAGE the old and festering anger that just grows because they can never leave him alone they can never let him have peace they couldn’t even leave him to his own illusions and slow dreams of butterflies.

He doesn't notice Sandy approaching until a small hand gently lands on his shoulder. It burns it SEARS, makes him hiss _(it’s such a sad sound now, a little trickle of air)_ and yank away.

“You did this to me!” He repeats. “What am I now Sandy? The remains of an old enemy? The latest problem to deal with!?” He grabs at his hair with his hands tries to anchor himself tries to find something solid.

There’s nothing but the rage nothing but feeling so weak and brittle he’s fractured and can’t tell where he ends or begins-

_They did it HE did it he wasn’t happy but he was safe he knew who he was he had been fear there was nothing but the fear that held him and shielded him and they took it they made him look they made him SEE. He couldn’t forget now couldn’t forget her face her smile the tears the last time he saw her the screams of his friends it was easier when he didn’t KNOW._

And Sandy just looks worried just tries to get him to calm down and be good again. Because that’s all they REALLY wanted was for him to sit and be weak and small and good and docile and he snarls at the thought.

His hand flexes, but the shadows don’t listen to him anymore they won’t come to him won’t let him DESTROY Sanderson and this time he would make sure it would last. He screams his rage, screams against his own frailty while his hands claw and try to find something to grasp and destroy and SHRED.

The sand burns where it wraps around his wrists and Sanderson looks so, so sad and it just makes Kozmotis _(Pitch Black)_ more enraged. How DARE he look sad how DARE he feel pity for what HE did!

He’s screaming in fury as the sand comes over his eyes and the screaming only dies as sleep takes him again.

 

 

*****

“You are Kozmotis Pitchiner.”

He says it into the mirror every morning. Grips the edges of the golden sink in the washroom and stares hard into the flat, shining surface _(everything is golden here, gold and shining and brilliant and it makes him feel at home it makes him sick.)_

He’ll wake from the dreamless stupor that Sanderson would put him in, stare himself in the mirror, and remember who he was.

Some days it was easy, and some it was not.

He can see how he’s changed. He can see the shadows around his eyes and the way they will shift, just slightly, in the light. It’s so subtle that he has to stare long at the mirror to see it, the way one eye will gleam a slight shade lighter than the other one when the light hits it right.

The looks aren’t what matters, it’s what in his head that matters.

He tightens his hands on the edge of the sink, digs his nails into the lacquered surface.

“You are Kozmotis Pitchiner.”

He bares his teeth in a snarl, hates how easily it comes to his face now, hates the practiced ferocity of it. But he makes himself see the way it makes him look feral, makes himself look at how his eyes will flash like a monster from the nightmares of children.

“You are Kozmotis Pitchiner, and you _failed._ ”

 

 

 

Some days it isn’t as easy.

“You are Kozmotis Pitchiner.”

_And look what they did to you, how they brought you down even more. Couldn’t be satisfied with your defeat they had to make you hurt. They had to make you SCREAM. They made you remember made you see and now look at you! They’ll never be satisfied they’ll never hurt you enough it’s enough it’s enough to get the blade, it would be so easy. So easy to get the blade and march out onto the world and-_

“NO!”

He slams his fist into the sink, grits his teeth when he feels the skin on his knuckles split but the pain is good the pain brings him back into his own body.

Kozmotis stays there, breathing hard, he hasn’t moved from the sink and his knuckles still drip wet down onto the floor. His hands are shaking and he listens inently to the sound of his blood dripping slow and steady.

_plip_

_plip_

_plip_

Like a metronome, like a heartbeat that reminds him that there is more inside of him than just shadows now.

He raises his head again, looks into the mirror and sees the shifting in his eyes, wonders if the slightly smudged look to his skin is all imagined or not. Doesn't dare look to see if the shadows behind him are moving at all.

Kozmotis takes a deep breath, holds it and feels it in his lungs. Holds it until his chest starts to burn, starts to let him know that he NEEDS the air now. He finally lets it out slowly, stares at his own gaunt face in the mirror and says in a small, weak voice.

[ ](http://s42.photobucket.com/user/Nuhor/media/aintinotpurtyenoughbuhu_zpsf15142c3.jpg.html)

“You are Kozmotis Pitchiner. And you failed.”


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh maannnn big apologies from both of us on the huge delay on this one guys!! Real life caught this fic by the nads and went "NOPE".
> 
> Hope this makes up for the wait! Thanks for your patience everyone! <3 <3
> 
> EDIT: I ALMOST FORGOT!!
> 
> morbidlizard did some AWESOME Sehstor fanart (she made him hot ohno) http://morbidlizard.tumblr.com/post/52429023356/ahah-ah-lindzz-what-did-you-do-to-me-omfg-i-cant
> 
> and Sammiches made a heart wrenching and not ok classic rock mix
> 
> "Dream On" Side A : http://8tracks.com/sammiches/dream-on-a-side
> 
> Side B: http://8tracks.com/sammiches/dream-on-b-side

 

 

 

 

The world is not young, but it is young enough.

Actually, it is already quite old, and has seen many, many things.  But now, now there are new things.

Creatures that learned to walk on their own and began to have ideas.  Animals that create images from their mind with mud on walls and create beautiful things from bits of bone and stones.  They weave stories on the air and begin to name things, things that never needed names before.

The world is not-so-young, the moon is bright,

and a shadow stirs.

It shifts for a few moments under the soft light before it lengthens and slowly pulls away from the darkness around it.  It oozes, drags, and slides along the ground like a blot; like it’s not sure what it’s supposed to do or what shape it is supposed to be.  

It has been a long time since it needed shape.

The shadow twists, writhes, coils in on itself and then slowly, painfully, p u l l s itself up.  It builds itself up into something tangible.  The shadow finally stands, looks up at the moon and feels the fear of a young race stirring the hot, still air.

 

  
  
It’s Pitch Black’s first memory.  Or at least, his first REAL memory.  He knows somehow that he did exist before this moment.  That he was something long, long before he first stood and looked up at the moon.  
  
He can’t say how he knows.  But there are memories of memories.  Fleeting emotions and feelings of a past that he can’t quite grasp.  
  
There was darkness and screaming and blood and the endless endless void of something he cannot name there was a feeling of more than himself, there were things that needed to be destroyed and there was something small and bright and golden and HATED and there was a long

  
      long  
  


 

 

 

                         fall.  
  
But now, for the first time, he looks up at the moon and thinks,  
  
‘I am Pitch Black’  
                               

                                             _(we are the pitch black..._.)

  
  
There’s a feeling in his chest, a knowledge that springs up outside of his mind.  It’s a whisper in his ear while he watches the bright and glaring moon.  
  
He is Pitch Black, and he is the Fear of this young world.  
  


 

 

Of course he is, what else would he be?  
  
  
                        

  
  


_(we are....)_

 

_( **I**    am....)_

  


  
Many, many years later, he will think that he simply WAS before.  That this was the moment he became a someone instead of a something.  The moment that a human somewhere became self aware enough to think of fear as something tangible.

  
  
  
  
  
  


  
      ( _he is wrong, of course,  
  
                                                but he is close enough all the same_.)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He _is_ Kozmotis Pitchiner.  Recently returned from what could be considered dead.  The no longer insane ( _so he is told_ ), and hero of a long lost era in a long lost galaxy.  
  
He _was_ Pitch Black, the terror of the universe and personification of fear on the human world.    
  
He is incredibly bored.  
  
For a while he feels like he can’t possibly be bored.  Boredom is not for people who have regular fights with their mirrors.  It’s not for those who wake up some mornings feeling like it’s a fine day for a bloody rampage.  It’s for those who are sound of mind and have nothing better to do.  Boredom is NORMAL.  
  
Boredom is a luxury he has not earned.  But he feels like the very AIR is suffocating him.  There’s a building static in his mind as he circles the same rooms and same walls and looks out over the same flat blue ocean.  
  
He scowls at the expansive nothing outside his window as he progressively grows more and more boneless in the large, plush chair Sandy has provided him with.  Instead of the sparse and simple bedroom he had originally woken up in, he now has a full suite with a separate living room.  Apparently Sandy had decided that he needed a little more space and had given him an entire reading room with furniture and a desk and another large, seated window.  
  
This had happened at some point while he was asleep, and there had been a bit of ...a ruckus about it the next morning.  
  
When things had finally calmed down, they both decided that it was for the best if Sandy notify Kozmotis first before changing the environment of a recovering amnesiac.  
  
So he at least had some warning when a wardrobe and dresser appeared in his room the next day.  He’s still not entirely sure how or WHERE Sandy got the clothes to fill it though.  
  
Clothes that looked suspiciously like his old, crisp military outfits from long ago.  It’s an ongoing mystery that he hasn’t gotten himself to ask about yet.  When they first appeared, Kozmotis had spent more time than he would care to admit opening and closing the dresser while squinting suspiciously at the eerily familiar and neatly folded outfits.  
  
He didn’t really want to know where they came from or how Sandy knew what his size was or what he liked to wear.  But it was nice actually having shirts again, so he refrained from making too much of a scene about it.  
  
But that was all a while ago.  He now dresses regularly in his old clothes, stopped wondering where the sharply tailored coats and shirts come from, and no other changes were made to his living space.  
  
Which is nice, he does enjoy knowing where he is when he wakes up, but it has made things less exciting.  Lack of excitement should be a good thing.

It IS a good thing.  
  
It’s still incredibly boring, despite being such a good thing.  
  
The lack of excitement is what led him to begin melting into his own furniture.  
  
It’s not until he’s somehow gotten himself nearly horizontal that he gives in.  He has his head jammed against the armrest, one leg nearly over the back of the chair and the other flung over the other armrest.  It’s ridiculous, uncomfortable, and he finally admits defeat.  
  
Kozmotis is bored.  
  
He gives a loud, tortured sigh and wrestles himself out of the chair with a little difficulty.  He really doesn’t know which are worse; the days when he can’t blink without a series of flashbacks, or the days like this.  
  
Where Nothing.  Happens.  
  
He was never able to simply do nothing for any length of time.  Even if it was looking over maps or charts he had to be active somehow, mentally or physically.  Sitting back and enjoying a day was just something Kozmotis wasn’t wired for.  And the longer the days drag on the more he feels like he’s going to just burst out of his skin with nervous energy.

It won't help to just lie around, he tells himself.  He needs to move, needs to occupy his mind with something before it decides to go spiraling down it’s own path, which never ends well.  So he gets up, starts to wander around his rooms thinking that maybe he’ll do some reorganizing.  
  
He has already rearranged everything twice and then went and cleaned every inch of the already spotless rooms, but maybe this time will be different.  Maybe this time he’ll magically find something to distract himself with that he just hadn’t noticed during all his other wanderings.

He manages one circuit of the room before he's sprawled on the couch instead.  Legs strewn haphazardly and one arm flung dramatically over his eyes.

' _Well,_ ' he thinks, _'I managed to make it to a different piece of furniture.  Progress has been made._ '  


 

From this high up he can't even hear the sound of the ocean.  Though he doesn't imagine that would be much more exciting.  It'd be better than the wind whispering around his tower.  The sound of it tugs at the edges of his awareness, fraying his thoughts before he can fully form them.  It's best, he's found, to try and block it out.  

If he listens too closely he starts to hear screaming.

_The wind had always been a fickle thing but there were times he could work with it.  It could rattle windows and sway dead branches and creak through the old wood.  He could enhance every sound and when the wind was truly enraged oh the fear the amazing fear that always comes when death is possible.  When the humans cower in holes like the animals like the vermin that they are and the quiet whimpers of fear fill the air in a beautiful symphony a perfect counter-rhythm to the howling and shrieking wind that tears at their precious homes and turns all to rubble and destroys and smashes and -_

Kozmotis shakes himself out of it, shakes the thoughts away and imagines them scattering and shattering as they fall from his mind.  Get out get out get OUT.

The wind sounds almost playful as it breezes gently around his window.

He blocks it out by focusing on his own breathing.  A slow inhale, slower exhale.

In.    Out.     Repeat.

 _'It's a good thing I'm already insane_.'  He thinks camly, ' _Or all this tedium would drive me mad.'_

The thought makes him chuckle to himself ( _it really shouldn't, it's not funny in the slightest_.)

He always did have a warped sense of humor.

' _Even more warped now, I think._ '

That sends him into another small fit of what could only be called giggles.  He manages to spend a good five minutes practically cackling to himself on the couch.

It's really not funny.

"Is this the new plan?"  He drawls.  Sandy isn't around, but Kozmotis knows the small man can hear him.  "Couldn't get rid of me with your little book so you're going to kill me with boredom instead?"

Silence.

"If that IS the plan, it's going very well."  He continues conversationally.

There's a shifting sound, the soft fall of sand settling.  Sandy still isn't technically around, but they always did have their own way of understanding each other.

And he can tell that Sanderson is not amused by his theatrics.

  
"There isn't anything to do," Kozmotis responds, "that's the problem. If I could find something then we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Another shifting sound.  This time he almost gets a coherent response.

- **Think of it this way, if you're bored it means you're not having flashbacks**.-

"Very comforting."  Kozmotis mutters.

Several images flit through his mind without his prompting, finally landing on the idea of a book and a questioning feel.

He hates it when Sandy does that.

"Books?  It's better than nothing anyway.  Oh I don't know, any subject I suppose.  At this point I'm not picky."

Another thought comes to him, though he can tell it's his own this time.

"Actually....get me some history?  I've seen this world develop, but I had a bit of a limited mindset...it'd be interesting to see it all from their point of view."

 

 

 

He doesn’t know where Sandy gets the books or how, he suspects it’s from whatever strange dimension the clothes are coming from.  Sandy simply gave him an idea of endless libraries and long lost tomes and Kozmotis decided not to ask any more questions about it.  
  
Shelves aren’t a problem either, Sandy just smiles, waves a hand, and they grow from the walls.  Kozmotis watches while the room shifts and shelves pour fluidly into shape.

He is glad now, that he had been unconscious when Sanderson decided to expand his living area. Just watching the addition of new furniture is making him feel queasy.  It’s absurd, he’s done far more mind-bending things with shadows and has walked through walls like they weren’t there.  He has distorted space and formed solid objects from nothing but dark and his own thoughts.  
  
It still gives him a headache though.  
  
Within the span of a day he has his own small library growing.  And it keeps growing.  Kozmotis had always liked reading but had never considered himself a man of books.  He was more for action and movement than sitting in one place at some dusty desk.  But now he’s finding himself getting entirely lost within history.  
  
He’s walked the world since man first named fear.  Pitch Black was there when humans stepped from their caves and built their own shelters.  Pitch Black was there when they first formed their own weapons and first grew their own food.  He was there for the first city and first library and first building devoted to nothing but ideas and art.  
  
But he has never seen what the humans thought about it all.  He devours their history, loves seeing how they will distort their own past for certain goals.  He manages to find an empty book and starts hunting down different records from the same time period.  One event will happen and he’ll find ten different versions of the same earthquake or same battle or same treaty.  Every side has a completely different story and it’s almost a game, putting the pieces together to see what actually happened.  
  
He especially enjoys seeing the events that he personally remembers.  Though at first, it had nearly thrown him into a panic.    
  
Kozmotis was flung half hazardly over the couch when it happened.  It wasn’t a large event, just a meeting between two kings who had been at war, but something about the record had tugged at his mind.  It picked at him and prodded at his thoughts until-  
  
 _The quiet fear is almost as good as the screaming.  Not quite, but it’s still lovely.  The humans all gather and put on grand shows with colors and talks of peace and treaty and an end to war.  All while anxiety and suspicion festers in the air.  They all watch each other as they speak of friendship, each man waiting for the other to pull out the knife and the anticipation and gnawing nervous fear is like a soothing and relaxing drink.  Pitch grins to himself while he hangs up in the shadowy rafters, one leg swinging loosely from where he’s sprawled on the beam while he soaks in the quiet tense fear and cheerfully adds his own touches to it.  Perhaps by the end of the night someone will give in to paranoia and pull their dagger out and there will be a battle and then a war and then the screams in the air as a finishing touch to this long slow meal-_

Kozmotis gasps and clutches at the book, staring at the innocent marks on the crisp pages.  There hadn’t been a battle that night (much to his disappointment at the time) and all had ended well.  He can remember that very clearly.    
  
He stares at the words, feeling disoriented at seeing his own memories told by those he had been observing.  
  
It pulls him from the memory, forces down his own thoughts of it and shows something else.  It makes the flashback something distant and something somehow both real and beyond him.  Other things had happened, other people had been having their own thoughts while he had drifted above and watched.  
  
Somehow, reading the wars and terrors and fears of the past from others point of view...it makes facing his own memories easier.  These people had survived him, the words on this page happened in spite of him.  He may have influenced and prodded and pushed things along, but humans kept going on unaware.   
  
He starts hunting down these bits of his own history.  Starts finding multiple points of view and jotting down his own notes until he can parse together what really happened.  Kozmotis fills one notebook after another, never with anything organized or with any real thesis or thought, just random findings and observations and notes to himself as he soaks in the history of the world.  
  
It’s such a small world, such a young and simple race but there is so much of it at the same time.   
  
He still feels cooped up, still feels the limits of the walls around him and still feels the jittery energy crawling under his skin.  But at least he no longer feels like he’s about to go crawling out of his own mind from boredom on the days when things are calm.  
  
And he should have known that the peace wouldn’t last long. It's barely a few month later that Sandy comes in with a proposal.

“Visitors?”  Kozmotis asks blandly, a few months after getting his little library.  He stares at Sanderson like the little man is insane.  
  
Kozmotis suspects that he is.  

And he should know, takes one to know one after all.  
  
Sanderson ignores his disbelieving look and nods, smiling brightly at him.  He wants to start bringing the other Guardians in, introducing them one at a time and getting everyone used to each other.  
  
“Oh I already know them all QUITE well.  Unless you somehow forgot?”  He glares at Sandy from where he’s curled in the windowsill, the book he was going through forgotten as he scowls at his keeper.  
  
Kozmotis really, really does not want to see the other Guardians.  He’s finally used to Sanderson, used to talking easily to the small man whom he had once hated beyond anything else.  Sandy had been his opposite, his foil and his greatest threat.  There were still days that he longed to see the little man burst and turn into nothing but dust and sand and consuming darkness.  
  
But that happens less now, he can finally consider Sandy as something of a companion at least.  The other Guardians however...  
  
 _...they are enemies._  
  
He knows they aren’t really, not anymore.  
  
But it was difficult, thinking about them without feeling an old bitterness rising in his throat.  It doesn’t matter how many times he reminds himself that they aren’t his enemies anymore, he can only remember battles and righteous anger.  
  
 _Because they took everything, they talked always about their balance and then took you down whenever they could.  They wore away at your pride and your power until you were a wraith until you had nothing and even then they weren’t satisfied--_

  
  
 _\----No no no don’t that’s not it they did what you could not.  You failed to stop the fearlings and they were constantly having to fight what should have been your battle.  They were only there because you failed-_  
  
He shakes himself, grinds his teeth until his jaw hurts enough to distract him from his own head.  
  
No, he does not want to get all chummy with the Guardians.  
  
Unfortunately, Sandy is persistent and won’t stop harassing him until Kozmotis finally gives in.  
  
They agree on spaced out meetings, one at a time.  That way Kozmotis can decide when he’s ready for another chat and Sandy can be around to make sure nothing goes badly.  
  
  
It’s a compromise, though Kozmotis isn’t even sure what he’s supposed to talk about.  How does one reacquaint themselves with their mortal enemies?  
  
 _‘Hello so nice to meet you, or at least, to see you again since you decided to rip my mind from-’_

  
Stop.  Try again.

  
  
_‘Hi there, I would shake your hand but you wouldn’t like that would you?  Might get some shadows on you, might make you remember the last time we talked and I nearly sliced your world right out from under you and-’_

  
  
No.

  
  
_‘I never got around to asking, how did it feel then?  Not when you all watched me dragged screaming into the pit. I’m sure that was lovely for you.  But how did it feel losing your belief?  Did it burn or was it more like a slow peeling of skin away from muscle because for me-’_

  
STOP.

  
  
Kozmotis growls under his breath, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes until he sees starbursts behind his lids.  This really should not be so difficult.  
  
Perhaps, he thinks, he’ll stay safe with a simple and short ‘Hello’ and leave it at that.  
  
  


 

 

Toothiana is the first one, brought to his window one bright and sunny day by Sanderson.  Kozmotis had been expecting her (sitting in the window barely looking at the latest book his mind was full of static and nervous anticipation and his hands wouldn’t stop moving he didn’t want to meet them didn’t want to play nice), but he still jumps when she hovers into his view, watching him nervously while he tightens up and stares back at her.

He recovers himself quickly, trying not to fidget too much as he gets up to put the book away.  They watch each other, careful and tense and he can read every sign of fear on her.

Her hands tense and holding on to each other, obviously wanting to grip the sword slung to her back instead. Her crest flicking up and down and her feathers ruffling and smoothing out with nervous energy.

The way her eyes flick over him and he can see her noting and cataloging every similarity every difference.  He’s too much like Pitch _(he IS Pitch_ ) and she isn’t sure how to react.

She’s nervous and confused and afraid and determined.

And he can’t _feel_ any of it.  It’s like a blanket has been thrown over him, like he’s wearing blinders, and he’s never noticed before that he can’t FEEL the fear anymore.  That one of his senses has been cut off entirely.  He can see every sign of apprehension but he can’t name the flavor of it, can’t peer in and see the deeper causes.

This is a good thing, he reminds himself.  It’s good.

Toothiana frowns, watching him watch her and he can see how she chews her lip, trying to find something to say.  The silence, the ridiculous awkward tension in the air, has gone on too long.

Kozmotis sits in his chair ( _stiff and upright he can’t relax while she’s here_ ), looking at the wall behind her.  “I didn’t expect you to want to speak to me.  Any of you.”

She twists her hands nervously.  “You’re not him.  I’m not going to hold him against you.”

He holds his own hands in his lap, can’t stop his fingers from tapping nervously and he can see the pity mixed with so many other things in her eyes.  He thinks that they must not know.  They don’t know about the soft whispers that still drag through his mind.

Especially when he thinks of them.

“Are you sure about that?”  He asks softly.  He can remember everything, every action every justification every thought.

And he could easily see himself in them.  Not in the actual decisions, but the rationalizing, the little quirks, his inflections, the way thoughts moved through his head.  

Not much had changed, not really.

She tenses on a breath for a few seconds, but she squares her shoulders and looks him firmly in the eye.  “You’re not him.”

 

Kozmotis looks down at his hands (tapping and fidgeting though he’s trying to be still and composed).  They’re a pale, silvery grey; and that helps.  It helps to remind himself that he’s not covered in shadow anymore, that he’s something else now.  Because he’s not as sure as she is, he has the disadvantage of actually knowing what goes through his head.

She simply has her wishful thinking.

_You’d love that wouldn’t you little bird? Do you tell yourself that to help you sleep at night?  Does it make you feel better, to think that I’m just the sad little man that Sanderson keeps now?  Did you come here to see what you made of me, what I’ve become since you “saved” me?  But you didn’t save me did you? No you didn’t expect to be left with this, you were hoping I would be gone for good.  But it helps doesn’t it, saying that I’m not him.  That I won’t come while you sleep and make you see everything you’ve done wrong in your life.  That I won’t show you visions of jungles and screams and the sound of monkeys shrieking in the underbrush as you cower up in the trees that I won’t hold a blade to your pretty little throat and-_

He hisses, clenches his hands together until the bones creak.

_She isn’t my enemy._

There’s a glint that catches his eye and when he looks up she’s sleek and focused.  The fear is still there but it’s harder now.  Kozmotis wonders if she had seen something in his little lapse, if something had shown on his face.  Her eyes are two hard chips of stone while she stares at him.

He forces his breath out, makes himself relax with it and looks away from her.  He doesn’t miss the way her hand twitches towards her back, where the golden sword is strapped.

“I hardly know who I am lately, I don’t expect you to know better than I do.”

She relaxes slightly, watching him for a few moments before flying further into the room and landing in front of him.  

He congratulates himself on not tensing too much at her proximity while she looks down at him with an unreadable face.

“There was always something in Pitch that I saw.  Just enough hints of some good in him to make it hurt all the more when he did terrible things.  You’re not him.  You may have not been in control, but I think you kept him from being worse than he was.  I think you kept that spark of something more in him.”

Something _tears_.  

A horrendous sick lurching down in his gut that pulls up through him and twists in his throat.

Something rips through his lungs and leaves him just staring at her in shock.  

It occurs to him, after a few horrid, pained moments, that she had meant the words to be comforting.

“Does that make it better?”  He finally says quietly. “That I was only enough to make what he did, what I did, even worse?  That I made it more painful when that spark failed?”

That they could see him in there.  That she just CONFIRMED for him that he was always there, always a part of what Pitch Black was doing because he. was. Pitch Black.  She can say otherwise, she can tell him that he and Pitch are different as much as she wants. But they both know it for a lie.

The feathers on her forehead ruffle as she frowns at him “That’s not what I-....” She breaks off, exhales and relaxes, “I don’t know.”  She says simply, “But it’s something.  And it can get better, if you want, I think.”

He looks away again, doesn’t watch as she leaves after a few moments of quiet.

There’s silence then, and it stays heavy and suffocating long after she’s gone.

 

He gives himself only a week to pull himself back together enough to agree to North visiting next.  Kozmotis doesn’t actually feel ready, but he wants these done quickly, wants to rip the bandage off and have it done with.

The day comes too quickly nonetheless, and he's trying not to pace around the room too much while he watches the window.

How WERE they going to get North up there?  Could that behemoth of a man even fit through the window?  
  
Was Sandy going to just fly him up there?  
  
The thought startles a snort out of Kozmotis, which breaks into an actual snicker when he imagines the tiny Sanderson trying to lift North’s bulk and fly him in through the window.  
  
Sandy was probably strong enough to do it too. Ooohh that is something Kozmotis would pay money to see.    
  
 _Especially if Sanderson dropped the buffoon._

Not good.

 

He shudders, gets his thoughts back in order, and goes back to pacing.  If he focuses on the patterns on the rug then he doesn’t have to listen to his head.  
  
Swirl dot another swirl meandering like the path of a river blossoming out into a starburst of leaf-like spirals that come together into something he can’t follow and explode next to a series of circles and dots like the stars of the sky its like watching a cloud and seeing something new every time and its far too detailed a pattern for any rug no one should put this amount of detail into something that will only get stepped on over and over and over and over and over as he circles the room but it wasn’t made of course this is just Sandy’s mind making something he might like just a reflection of a dream made in a dream palace its supposed to comfort him but he doesn’t like the stars doesn’t like how brilliant and radiant the stitched out beams of light are everything about it is wrong wrong wrong wrong-

The knock on the door nearly sends him crashing into the couch. Since when does he have a DOOR?!  
  
The answer, it seems, is ‘since Sandy decided to make one just now.’  Kozmotis watches stiffly as part of the nearby wall shifts and bends, molding itself into a plain, square door.  
  
Well, that answers the question of how they were going to get North in.  He tries not to be disappointed.  He sits stiffly as the door opens and runs through his carefully rehearsed mantra.  
  
 _They are not your enemies.  Without them you’d still be a monster, if it weren’t for them you would be a puppet, a hollow shell filled with everything you hated.  You owe them._

 _\--without them you wouldn’t have to know you would know who you are you wouldn’t rip your mind apart every day without them you could have gone on unaware and blissful--_   
  
_-Stop!_

It’s a work in progress.  
  
North comes in with a smile already in place and his eyes bright. Everything about him screams “friendly” and it sets Kozmotis on edge far more than Toothiana’s tense and nervous staring did.  
  
“Ah it is good to finally meet you!”  North strides in, confident and sure, he never really lost that pirates swagger.  He holds a broad hand out to Kozmotis, smile welcoming and bright.  “It was Kozmotis, yes?”  
  
Forced.  It’s all so forced!  
  
 It’s _insulting_. Kozmotis can see the way those sparkling blue eyes flick over him, missing nothing.  The way North holds his shoulders stiffly, ready to react to anything, the way the smile stays perfectly fixed in place and the other hand (his dominant hand, if Kozmotis is not mistaken) stays loose and ready.

Kozmotis glances at the hand, doesn’t care how rude he’s being when he simply looks back up at North.  He is not here to be pandered to, not here to be reassured or lied to.  
  
“Are you here to tell me again how I’m not him and everything will be bright and happy sunshine now?  Because I had quite enough of that from the fairy.”  
  
Silence.  
  
North doesn’t put his hand down but the smile goes away, the sparkle in his eyes turns into a sharp glint as they narrow and look over Kozmotis.  
  
Kozmotis looks back, face neutral.  He doesn’t know if he’s about to be punched or if North is going to just stride out.  Though, truthfully, he really hopes it’s the latter.  
  
The burst of loud, booming laughter nearly makes Kozmotis jump out of his skin.  North throws his head back, body shaking with laughter and he claps a hand on Kozmotis’ shoulder.  The impact nearly knocks him from the chair.  


 

“Aha!  Well you may not be Pitch but you certainly have his way with words!”  North gives Kozmotis another overly friendly clap on the shoulder before sitting heavily in the armchair across from him.  “But you, I think I prefer much more!”  He adds with a wink.

Kozmotis stares blankly at him for a few moments while he mentally makes sure his shoulder is intact.  North is loud and brash and in his space and Kozmotis feels like he’s been left with uneven footing around the brightly smiling man.

“How are all of you so certain that I’m not Pitch?”  He wonders aloud.  For a while he thought it was just Toothiana fooling herself.

“Well, for one Pitch had his temper eh?  I am sure if you were still Pitch, I would be blocking a very large blade, not simply being glared at.”  
  
Perhaps it is best not to mention that the blade part is still very tempting.  
  
They aren’t my enemies.  I owe them.  
  
He looks away, focusing his gaze at the blue sky out the window.  “I suppose I have you to thank.” To blame. “I heard it was your book that led you all to realize you could release the fearlings.  Where did you even find such a thing?”

The fact that they had planned to use said book to effectively kill Pitch isn’t brought up.  Kozmotis may be rude, but he can be polite about some things.  
  
North shrugs, spreading his hands.  “It is hard to say, many of the books I have are left from Ombric’s library.  And even he did not know the origin of many of his books.  They are an ancient collection gathered by many wizards.”  
  
Kozmotis nods shortly to himself, it makes sense.  Though...he can’t help now but wonder what he could find in there.  How nice would he have to play to get his hands on that library?  
  
 _'The confinement really has turned me into a doddering old scholar.'_  He thinks with a small, wry smile.  
  
He’s pulled from his thoughts when North leans forward, elbows on his knees and eyes serious.  “Kozmotis,” his voice is commanding, firm and sure, “we did not know that you would come from our spell, it is true.  But believe me, if we had known earlier that there was still a man within the shadows...”  
  
“But you didn’t.”  Kozmotis interrupts him.  “And neither did I-...did Pitch.  Don’t apologize for what you could not have known or even guessed at.”  
  
There is much more you all should apologize for.  
  
Stop.  You owe them.  
  
North nods, unoffended.  “I do not know who you are, I do not know who you were before Pitch.  We did not know that you would be here still when we sent the fearlings away.  But we will help now.”  
  
Kozmotis swallows heavily and makes himself meet North’s gaze.  The pretending is gone.  The open, friendly look is still there but it is not masked by cheerfulness now.  North is intent and calm and means every word he says.  
  
It’s almost too much.  
  
“You’ve already done enough to help me.”  He says quietly.  
  
Kozmotis is surprised to realize that he also means every word he says.  
  
North smiles again, but it’s smaller now, there’s less teeth and it’s less brilliant.  Kozmotis expects more reassurance, more calm words of support.  But North stands, walks over to grip his shoulder again and simply says  “It was good, finally meeting you.”  
  
And he leaves.  
  
Kozmotis finds that he much preferred that goodbye over any overblown support or comfort.  
  


 

He is informed that E. Aster Bunnymund isn’t ready to meet him.

Which he understands.  To tell the truth, Kozmotis is not quite ready to meet Aster either.

_(“The name’s Sehstor Bunnymund, I hear you’re the poor sod I have to share a bunk with eh?”_

 

_“Koz, you ask that girl to drinks or I swear on my mum's whiskers I’ll fucking ask for you. And it won't be pretty."_

 

_“Oh them’s fightin words Koz.  Y’don’t ever challenge a Bunnymund to anything.  We’re the most stubborn damn clan you’ll ever come across.”_

 

 _“Koz they can’t make you do this!  I don’t care what your damn honor says you have to tell them no!”_   
_“I swore an oath...”_   
_“Fuck your oath Koz!  You’ve done enough for the Tsar!”_   
_“Just take care of her Sehstor, take care of her for me...”_

 

 

_“Stars no Koz, no....”               )_

No, he’s just fine with not seeing any Pooka for a while.

 

Jack is never mentioned.  Which, honestly, is a relief.

His emotions about the Guardians are enough of a tangled mess

_You owe them they’re the ones who fight the shadows now they’re-_

  
  
                   _-the ones who brought you back they’re the ones who always kept you down they only found a new way to do it it’s their fault-_

  
  
_-no no no nono your fault stop stop-_

-Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.    
  
He breathes and feels the tension slowly drain out of him.    
  
The breathing helps, Pitch Black didn’t have to breathe.

“Tangled mess” is the mildest term he can think of for his feelings regarding the Guardians.  
  
And if they’re a tangled mess, Jack Frost is a maelstrom.  His memories of Frost are gaping, raw and confused even though he feels like he's looking at them from the outside.  It's like viewing someone else's memories through a window.  He peers in and watches the scenes, separated but still feeling every blazing and blinding emotion.  
  
Some days he feels like there’s some remnant of a shadow monster that he’s only managed to lock away.  It stays deep in him and stirs only occasionally.  It will shift and growl and rumble at thoughts of the Guardians.  He feels it like something physically twisting in his chest as it snarls resentment and anger.  
  
Jack Frost makes it roar.  He thinks of piles of golden boxes and feels it clawing at his lungs. He thinks of cold and dark and it’s like something is crawling under his skin, looking for a way out.  
  
If he thinks of grains of pure dark suspended in deadly sharp spears of ice, everything stops.  His mind is filled with the roaring and he can feel the rage clawing out the spaces between his ribs and tearing through his thoughts, leaving nothing behind.  
  
And he knows, in a very distant, logical way, that it makes no sense.  Jack Frost and Pitch Black had only begun to interact.  He had centuries of history and bitterness with the Guardians.    
  
 _But he doesn’t belong with them...he isn’t one of them._  
  
The shadow stirs.    
  
Kozmotis forces himself into the sunlight, curls in the window and digs his fingernails into his palms until the shadow goes quiet again.  He isn’t sure if the Guardians know about his old...fixation.  Doesn’t know if they even had a faint idea how bad it had gotten.  
  
 _Ice and dark and cold and fear and he had already won he already knew he would come back but now it would be better he’d have MORE than before because he had found something to share it with something who had been just as lost as him who could forge a new world with him he’d have something to talk to something to simply EXIST with he’d have someone-_  
  
 _-someone who said ‘no.’  And it’s a damn good thing he did._

A sharp jolt of pain pulls him from his head.  He breathes slow as he carefully unclenches his fist and winces when he sees blood on his nails and pooling over his palm.  It’s a nice distraction, but clawing his own hand seems a tad excessive, really.  
  
As long as Sandy doesn’t comment on the stains, he thinks, pressing a portion of his shirt into the cuts until he stops seeing new blots of red.  
  
Red is better than shadows.  But it’s still embarrassing.  
  
Kozmotis thinks that the Guardians have to have an idea at least, of the danger Jack Frost could be in.  Their newest member is never mentioned and Sandy never indicates a possible visit.  He approves of this method where none of them say anything about the problem.    
  
Kozmotis is facing enough issues dead in the face, he feels he has the right to try and ignore this one.  
  
That becomes very difficult when said problem decides to throw itself almost literally into his face.  
  
Kozmotis doesn’t even seen him at first.  He’s lost in the latest book, scribbling notes in the margins and devouring every word.  If asked later, he wouldn’t be able to remember a single detail or even what book he was reading.  
  
But at the time it’s fascinating.  He drowns his thoughts in the past and for once everything in him is still and quiet.  There’s a breeze outside and this time the sound of the wind is a comfort.  Kozmotis is peaceful and steady and-

“Good book?”  
  
Said book nearly goes sailing out the window and Kozmotis barely manages to save it without toppling over himself.  
  
He looks up into blue eyes and a wide grin and his heart stops.  Jack somehow managed to get himself up on top of the window without Kozmotis noticing and is hanging his head upside down to beam down at him.  


 

_What is he doing here why didn’t anyone tell me he was coming he shouldn’t be here-_

_Shouldn’t be with them he shouldn’t BE anymore should have been destroyed should-_

_no no stop stop stop no -_

“Hah!  I never thought I’d be the one startling you instead of the other way around!  This is nice!”  Jack looks entirely too pleased with himself.

Kozmotis clutches the book to his chest, unable to keep his eyes off of Jack as the boy flips down with an easy grace into his room.  He needs to say something needs to tell him to GET OUT but only manages a small sound caught in his throat.

Jack turns on the spot, whistling to himself as he surveys the room.  “They really keep you locked up in here huh?”

He can’t breathe.

_Rip that smile off of him rip him apart rip into him how dare he how DARE he._

_He should have been yours he should have gone with you he should have died with your blade in his back dug in deep through flesh and cold bones-_

_-Pull him in so he can’t turn his back ever again so he can’t even TRY to say no pull him in until the ice is in your veins take him back_

_\- take him back TAKE HIM-_

_-out out out OUT GET AWAY get him away!-_  
  
“You really don’t talk as much as you used to.  I can go with this, it’s a nice change of pace, being able to get a few words in.”  
  
There’s a rushing in his ears, a roaring sound as his lungs begin to burn and he gasps for air.  
  
 _Breathe breathe inhale exhale just breathe just -_  
  
 _keep him from breathing_  
  
 _stop -stop stop stop--_  
  
He needs more space, needs to take himself away and Kozmotis nearly falls over himself as he stands up and moves to the wall.  
  
Away away get away stay away stay away come here come closer let me put my hands around that little neck and-  
  
He pulls himself further away, hands nearly clawing the wall behind him as he moves to put most of the room between him and Jack.  
  
The boy watches him with an odd expression but shrugs and continues.  
  
“Mainly came by to say hi.  I know the other guys were stopping in to check up on the leftovers of their project and figured I’d join the party.  By the way, we haven’t been properly introduced,”  he holds a hand out, smiling brightly.  “The name’s Jack Frost.”  
  
Kozmotis can only watch in growing panic as Jack comes closer to him ( _get away get away get away_ ) and he eyes the extended hand like it’s something deadly.  He absolutely does not touch it ( _cold skin on his palms clench his hand and yank him in don’t let him get away don’t-_ ).  Jack is just looking at him curiously and Kozmotis realizes that the boy is waiting for a reaction.  
  
“We are already well acquainted, Frost.” He grits out.  
  
Jack flicks his eyes from his hand to Kozmotis, then shrugs and tucks it in his pocket. “Well, me and the other guy, yeah.  I only got a quick mention of your name when you were wheezing it.”

“Kozmotis...and there was no ‘other guy’, only me.”  
  
He tries moving away further, Jack is too close and he can feel the way the air cools around the small body.  
  
 _Hear his pulse in the air make it stop make him pay make him-_  
  
Deep breath just breathe remember that you breathe now.  
  
His hands are itching, the skin tight and crawling.  It’s like electrical jolts running over his hands making them warm and twitch with the need to reach out to dig his fingers deep and feel flesh and bone giving way as he tears-  
  
Stop stop stop STOP!  
  
“You were going by a different name and were slightly more crazy.”  Jack continues.

Kozmotis can barely hear him, can barely hear anything over the ringing in his ears and the imagined smell of blood in the air.  There’s nothing between them nothing but the air and Kozmotis needs to get away, needs to separate himself.  He’s barely thinking when he grabs the chair and puts it between them.  If he concentrates on the chair, concentrates on the feel of cloth beneath his fingers instead of-  
  
“Well...”  Jack continues, Kozmotis yanks his head up to glare at him, he’s not far enough away!  There needs to be more, Komzotis needs more space he needs more between them.  He grabs the couch, heavy and dense and he can’t breathe until it stands as a barrier between him and Jack.   
  
He can finally suck in the warm air like salvation while he goes to put the book away ( _needs something to do with his hands needs to focus on that instead of the small fragile and completely breakable boy standing in his room.)_  
  
Jack stares at him like he’s grown a second head, “I assume you were more crazy.”  
  
Kozmotis goes over to the bookshelf and occupies himself with remembering where EXACTLY the book had come from on it.  He can’t look at Jack.  
  
 _It should have been his, should have been his by right!  One thing that would have given him comfort and they took it from him and the Moon dangled it in front of him only to yank it away and this boy dared to tell him no dared to feel his pain and then deny him_  
  
 _-no no no no no he needs to get away needs more distance._  
  
“Yes well.  You’ve introduced yourself now, so you can go.  I can’t give any promise as to my mental state,” _\- tear him open tear him apart tear him into you_ \- “but I can assure you that I don’t plan on destroying anything soon if that’s what you’re concerned with.” _Destroy him destroy him make him scream make him beg for forgiveness!_  
  
Kozmotis forces himself to inhale, forces himself to exhale. “You should leave.”  
  
“Wait, what?”  Jack frowns, looking like he’s about to pout. “Come on!  I just got here!  I heard Tooth managed a whole ten minutes before things got too awkward!”  
  
He grits his teeth.  “You will have to find some other record to break.  Leave.”  
  
Jack’s frown shifts, looking curious as he steps towards Kozmotis ( _no no no no stay away stay away STAY AWAY_ ).  “Are you alright?”  
  
“Yes I am perfectly fine!”  He backs away further, there’s screaming in his chest and the shadow is a roaring leviathan pulsing through his veins.  
  
“You know, I didn’t really mean it earlier right?  About you just being leftovers?  I mean it’s more like Pitch was the leftovers of you right?”  
  
He can’t breathe again, he has enough spare thought to note that Jack is the first one of the lot who hasn’t tried to reassure him that he is not Pitch Black.  Kozmotis doesn’t know if he appreciates that or not and right now he can’t be bothered to think on it.  
  
“Yes thank you but my poor delicate feelings are stronger than that.  Now please.  Get out.”  
  
“Do you need me to go get Sandy?  I mean, if you need any help-”  
  
Kozmotis finally rounds on him, snarling and hands curled at his sides ( _feels like they should be shifting, feels almost surprised when the shadows don’t come to him_ ) and he’s barely keeping himself from going over and grabbing the boy.  “GET OUT!”  
  
Jack jumps back slightly. “Ok! Ok wow!  I’m going I’m going!”  He goes back to the window ( _further away and he feels every step Jack takes pull on his skin and let the air back into his lungs)_ and hops up onto the sill.  He pauses to give Kozmotis a long look.    
  
“Ya know, if it makes you feel better, you’re not nearly as good at that whole angry growling thing as Pitch was.  I give that one a four out of ten.”  He grins and waves his fingers in a mock salute, “See ya!”  
  
He jumps into the air, flying off with a wild and effortless rush that leaves the wind howling in Kozmotis’ window.  
  
The air comes rushing back.  
  
He sucks it in, his knees nearly giving out as he gasps in breath after breath.    
  
 _Stars, who let him come here!?_

The room is a complete mess, the rug is folded and crumpled from the heavy furniture dragging over it and the chair and couch are crammed awkwardly together between him and the rest of the room.  It wasn’t his most dignified moment and he winces to himself as he carefully pushes everything back into place.  The air is quiet and still and he’s silent while he rearranges his room.  The motions are distracting, he can focus on the scuffing sound on the carpet and the weight of the furniture instead of how hollowed out he feels.  
  
It’s like everything has been scraped raw and left bleeding, he can barely get his thoughts together after that wreck of a meeting.  
  
And beneath the hollow, shaking pit in his chest...there’s a fissure of anger.  
  
Jack wasn’t supposed to come here!  No one had told him the boy would be included on his little visits!  Didn’t they KNOW about the danger?  
  
He falls onto the couch, running shaking hands back through his hair as he continues to piece himself back together.  


 

Idiots, they were clearly all idiots if they thought it was fine for Jack to visit him! They had to have known, those pompous fools had known Pitch better than anyone, they HAD to have known...

_...What if they didn’t?_

The air leaves him in a rush as he scrubs his hands over his face.  Should he say something to Sandy?  Tell him that Jack couldn’t come anymore? That he shouldn’t have come in the first place?  
  
 _What if they ask WHY?_  
  
That thought alone makes him shudder, the very idea of trying to explain what Jack did to him, what the boy awakened...  
  
Stars...they’d never let him out of here if they knew...

No, it’s best if he doesn’t say anything. He had managed not to hurt Jack, perhaps next time he could chase him off before things got troublesome.  
  
They’re still all morons for thinking it’d be alright to send him here.  
  
As if on cue there’s a shifting sound, the well known fall of sand echoing in his mind and then a question that is more feeling than actual words.  
  
 **-Are you alright?-**  
  
 _What were you thinking?  He wants to say. What possessed you to think that he could come here? Are you that confident in me? To think I wouldn’t give into the need to feel how his skin would break how his screams-_  
  
Inhale.   
  
Exhale.

  
  
Repeat.

  
  
  
“I’m fine...”


	4. Chapter 3

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_“Now look a little to the right, up, a little more.  And there.  See her?"_

  
_Seraphina squints through the telescope, her tiny features scrunched in a frown.  Kozmotis had this room specially built for her long ago with the window wide and open to the night sky, but this is the first time he’s shown her this._   
  
  
_"It doesn't LOOK like the pictures of Mommy." She huffs._

  
_Kozmotis grins, stroking some of her long hair away from her face. It’s a futile attempt of course, Seraphina’s hair is it’s own wild creature that refuses to obey even the most resilient of brushes.  It certainly won’t be tamed by just his hand, but he tries anyway.   "She looks a lot different now, she's grown up."_

  
_"But she was already grown up!"  Seraphina glowers with all the sulking doubt of a five year old, pouting up through the lense._

  
_"To you, perhaps,”  He says gently, “but the moment we truly grow up is when we leave and become a star. We first have to live in a body and learn as much as we can, and when we’re ready, we can grow up. Even I’m still considered a child."_

  
_Seraphina gives him an incredulous look, face scrunched, "But you're OLD."_

  
_Kozmotis gasps dramatically, hand flying to his heart. "Old?!"  He cries, "I'll show you old!"_

  
_He snatches her up in the air, laughing as she shrieks indignantly.  “Daddy no!  Put me down put me down!”_   
  
  
_“You called me old!”_   
  
  
_"You are old!"  She squeals, "You're super old!"_

  
_"I should toss you out the window!"_

  
_"No daddy no!  Put me down!”  She kicks at him, tiny legs flying while she flails and squirms. “Put me down! I wanna look at Mommy again!"_

_He obliges and she takes off running to the telescope again as soon as her feet hit the ground, climbing up onto the chair to peer into it.  Seraphina is a constant bundle of energy, always moving and running and Kozmotis can’t hold the small chuckle as he walks up and sits next to her on a nearby chair._

  


  
_"She looks so far away."  She says softly._

  
_His smile gentles, turning into something wistful and he brushes her hair back with his hand again.  "She's very far away princess.  But don't worry."  He wraps his arm around her little shoulders, smiling softly up at the starry night.  "She can see you, and she'll always look after you. Even if I’m not here, she’ll always be keeping an eye on you for me."_

  
_"Daddy...why did she grow up before I could meet her?" Her voice wobbles slightly, though she bites her lip against it.  It’s incredible to him, how strong she is at such a young age._

  
_"Oh princess..."  He pulls her into his lap, wiping away the tears before they can fall and pressing his lips to her wild, wild hair.  "With the two of you?  The universe just wasn't made to hold that much beauty at once."_

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
On a nightstand, next to the bed, small and unassuming, sits a locket.  
  
  
It’s an ancient thing, round and simple with an intricate pattern of butterflies swarming over the face of it. The gold is tarnished, making every line and dot and scratch more pronounced.  It’s smudged and worn.  
  
  
Except for one edge of it, right by the clasp, that is shining and smooth.  The engraving has even been worn down here, eased away by a thumb stroking over, and over, and over.  
  
  
Pitch Black had known the value of fear. Fear was not something to be ashamed of, it defined people.   
  
  
Fear had the capability to break or create someone. Fear was to be respected, and carefully watched.  
  
  
Pitch Black had been terrified of the locket, so Pitch Black kept it close. For thousands of years it rested within his robe and for thousands of years he would find himself cradling the trinket in his hands, running his thumb over the clasp while his heart pounded in his ears and his mind filled with screeching.  
  
  
The locket was a mystery.  He knew he had come into being on a moonlit night countless eons ago, yet it had always been there. There were no memories of the thing, it simply was. He had nothing to him but a piece of jewelery and the numbing, ear splitting terror that it inspired.

  
  
Kozmotis Pitchiner is also terrified of it, but for different reasons.

  
  
The locket is no mystery to him. It had been his salvation, a totem that had kept him clinging to sanity.  
  
  
And now he still can’t bring himself to open it. It’s like one final step that he can’t take. So he ends up sitting and running his thumb over the clasp, as he had for thousands of years.  
  
  
How long has it been since he'd seen her face?   
  
  
The last time he saw Seraphina she was a thin, gangly girl on the edge of becoming a woman.  She had grown into her temper and was headstrong, wild, and perfect. She didn’t cry as he said goodbye for the last time and neither did he. But both of them walked away from that final embrace bearing bruises from clinging fingers.  
  
  
At first he had forgotten that he still had the thing with him. It wasn’t until he first dressed himself as Kozmotis Pitchiner that he found it.  
  
  
The clink of metal on the ground as he shed the robe had echoed like a deafening crash in his ears.  
  
  
It was such a simple, small thing. Sitting on the floor like any discarded jewelry would. He didn’t keep his eyes off of it while he slowly put on the layered clothes of Kozmotis Pitchiner.   
  
  
It’s like a ritual, like putting up cloth layers of armor. He isn’t fully himself until there is starched fabric on his skin in place of the soft brush of shadows. Each layer is protection. He feels himself solidifying more and more into himself as he pulls on each garment.  
  
  
Crisp, off-white undershirt. The material simple, light and airy. It’s for comfort and practicality and even the embroidery at the sleeves and collar is barely a shade different from the material.  
  
  
A deep blue or red sash, meant to hold a sword or pistol. Though neither was his preferred weapon, there was still a habit in putting it on.  
  
  
The sharply starched trousers, plain and black except for the line of color down the outside seam. It would have been gold, but that was for rank. He’s quite sure that he’s been thoroughly demoted so everything was a midnight blue now.  
  
  
A final coat on top of it all. Collar high and starched, the colors anywhere from dusky browns and golds to blues and blacks. Always subdued, always sharp and military.   
  
  
There was a time he would have begun adding layers of actual armor, though he’s not too sad at that loss. He always found the gleaming and ceremonial armor a bit too ostentatious for his taste.  
  
  
He is close to alright when he’s done with the final clasp.   
  
  
Except for the locket lying on the floor.  
  
  
Kozmotis watches it for several minutes. It could be hours as far as he knows, either way it’s too long to spend staring at such an innocent thing. It’s not like the thing was going to spring up for his throat as soon as he looked away. And there was no point leaving it lying on the floor.  
  
  
When he finally reaches down to pick it up his hands are shaking.

  
His fingers brush over the locket, tracing the smoothed area by the clasp. He doesn’t have to be afraid of it anymore.    
  
  
He could see her face. Kozmotis can’t remember the last time he had seen it. He has no idea how much time has passed. The age of a world, at least.  
  
  
He barely remembers the details of it. There was the scent of her hair, the sound of her laughter, her determined little face whenever something didn’t go her way. But the details...  
  
  
The locket had been his salvation, it had been his downfall. And something about it had made Pitch Black hold onto something that terrified him. Something in the locket had been strong enough that he kept his hold on it when the fearlings had their strongest hold on him.  
  
  
His thumb moves to the clasp. He could see it again, for the first time in countless ages and eons.  
  
  
His daughters face...  
  
  
 _The faces of children_  
  


 _screaming_   
  
_sobbing as the fearlings crept over them_   
  
  
_but that was alright._   
  
  
_It was only a moment of fear and then they wouldn’t know any pain, any hurt or fear ever again._

  
  
  
 _Poor lost things they were alone_   
  
  
  
_all alone_   
  
  
_but he would give them something to be.  He would give them a family of millions._

  
  
 _He doesn’t know why he wants to help them_  
  
 _he could never understand it but these orphans needed him._  
  
  
 _So he shushes them softly lets them know that it will be alright they’ll be so much stronger and better now as the fearling takes them as their little eyes go black and-_  
  
The locket crashes into the wall on the other side of the room and only the stone hitting his knees as he crumples brings him back.  Kozmotis heaves, can’t even bring anything up as he chokes on the bile and can’t get their faces out of his mind can’t get his own VOICE out of his mind.  
  
  
He curls against the wall under the window, focuses on the feel of the starched cloth and straight creases of his clothes.

 

 

 

 

  


 

  
  
The pounding in his head is so loud that he doesn’t hear the roll of thunder outside.  
  
  
Later, as the rain pounds against the closed window he’ll fall back into himself. It’s an oddly soothing sound, pulling him from the maze of his own head enough for him to go and pick the locket up from where it fell.  
  
  
He doesn’t open it. And so it stays, in the room, on the nightstand, next to the bed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kozmotis likes thunderstorms. He did when he was called Pitch Black as well. There's something calming about them, something about the rumbling and sound of rain that smoothes out the jagged edges of him.

 

The one currently raging has been going for almost two days. The pounding on the window and sound of waves crashing is like a balm to his nerves. It had been a rough couple of days where sleep and Kozmotis hadn't quite been able to come to terms with each other.

 

He was halfway to delirious when the thunder broke through the sky. The storms always did seem to come right when he needed them.

 

Almost as soon as the thunder rolled through the clouds he was able to sleep. He technically could have earlier, but a fit of misplaced pride had led to him angrily telling Sanderson that he didn't NEED any induced mini-comas anymore. Further fits of pride had kept him from admitting that he may have been wrong after his second night curled in on himself with wide eyes.  
  
  
But now he felt rested, there was something far more satisfying from a true, natural sleep and he intended to take advantage of the odd lullaby of the thunderstorm while he could. On the second day he tucks himself on his usual window seat, leaning his head against the window and dozing to the rolling thunder and the vibrations of rain driving against the glass.  


 

 

 

  
  
  
  
He spends hours in a state somewhere between awake and asleep, barely aware in a distant way of the continuing storm roaring outside his window. Real sleep stays just out of his reach, dancing at the edges of the visions of roiling shadows and screams.  

  
Kozmotis is just awake enough to know that he should be more concerned than he is when he feels a hand gently brush back through his hair. It's too large to be Sandy, and too gentle for his usual brand of hallucinations.

  
He thinks he should perhaps wake up fully, since this is something that he should be alarmed about. But the hand continues its gentle strokes, more of a brush of feeling than a full touch, and he feels himself drifting off further.

  
His mind feels pleasantly blank, filled with a gentle hand.

  
There's a brush of hair against his cheek

  
The smell of green.

  
Which he is still conscious enough to think odd, green isn't a smell. But that's the only way he can describe it. There's green and rain and a sound on the wind like humming that pulls him deeper and deeper-

  
A sharp rapping sound slams into him and sends him crashing from the windowsill to the floor in panic. There are a few more hectic seconds where he scrambles to get himself back up. His head whips around, frowning at the completely empty room. He must have been dreaming...though it wasn't anything like his usual dreams.

 

Another tapping sound gets his attention and he pulls himself back up on the windowsill. Though when he looks out the window he's ready to just go back down and hide on the floor.

 

"Jack Frost." He mutters, making it sound like a curse.

 

Jack is hovering just outside, right in the brunt of the storm, but he doesn't seem too bothered by the near hurricane. He somehow floats in one spot with no issue, despite the wind whipping through his hair and yanking at his clothes. He looks less like a frost spirit and more like something born from the storm.

 

He's also nearly doubled over laughing, no doubt at the shocked scowl on Kozmotis' face.

 

The brat waves cheerily at him, grinning wide enough to nearly split his face. He looks absolutely absurd with the rainwater pouring nonstop from his hair and soggy sweatshirt.

 

Kozmotis isn't sure what exactly possesses him to open the window, but before he can take the time to think about what he's doing he fumbles with the clasp and yanks it open.

 

"Do you have a death wish!?" He hollers. He's not sure how Jack hears him over the roar of the storm, but he laughs back anyway. Kozmotis is about to just slam the window shut when Jack sweeps in, bringing that laugh and a small downpour of dripping water with him.

 

"Awww you worried about little old me?" Jack grins cheekily at the glare he gets. “Storms never bother me! I think they’re great!"

 

 

 

 

 

Kozmotis was not talking about the storm. That laugh is already making something dark slither in his chest. His skin tightens, his throat closes up, and there’s the prick of claws beginning to prod at the back of his ribs, looking for a way out.

  
  
He shoves the window shut with a little more force than necessary. "What are you doing here?"

  
Instead of answering, Jack shakes himself off, sending a small hailstorm of ice flying about the room. Kozmotis ducks and winces at the sound of the beads of ice pinging off of the walls and various pieces of furniture. He was going to have little puddles everywhere now.  
  
  
He wants Jack out. Wants to throw him back into the storm and watch the wind rip him away.  
  
  
 _Wants to feel the wood of Jack’s staff breaking and watching him plummet down down down he’s sure the water won’t be as friendly to him as the storm, won’t be as fun-_  
  
  
The thunder rips and cracks through his mind, his heart nearly leaps through his chest in answer. Too close, he’s getting too close again, Jack is not an enemy.  
  
  
He never was before, either.  
  
  
Kozmotis shakes his head to clear it and stays by the window. Here the storm almost drowns out everything else and he can soak in the sound of it. He can ground himself in the crack and roll of the thunder to keep himself from wandering towards the shadow roiling inside of him..

  
"What," He grits out again, fighting to keep himself level as Jack looks unhurriedly around the room,  "are you doing here? Didn't you get your good look last time?"

 

"Heeyyy” Jack exclaims, raising his eyebrows as he looks around, “You put the furniture back! Shame, I kinda liked the new set up you were going with!"

 

Kozmotis feels his face heat up and he crosses his arms, fingers digging into the material of his shirt.  
  
  
He would really rather not remember how ridiculously he had behaved the last time Jack decided to pay a very unwanted visit.

  
"You aren't answering me."  
  
  
Jack shrugs, hovering up in a reclining position that makes him look far more comfortable than he should be around Kozmotis. He’s still dripping a puddle of water onto the floor, even after sending a small hailstorm about the room. He looks like a drowned rat. "Oh I dunno, I was in the neighborhood."

  
  
Kozmotis’ fingers clench, feeling a now familiar urge to wrap around the boy’s neck and squeeze. 

  
  
Though this time he’s absolutely sure that the urge is entirely him instead of the shadow. It is nice to know that sometimes his violent urges were still all his own.  "This is the south Pacific, they don't know what winter is."

 

Jack lights up with a mischievous grin  that sends a horrified chill crawling down Kozmotis’ spine. "I can teach them!"

 

Kozmotis inhales, exhales slowly, and pinches the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes shut. Maybe he should just go the direct route. "Frost, I don't want you here. Are you incapable of telling when you're not wanted?"

 

"Pfff all the time.” Jack breezes, “But it happens a lot, so I learned to ignore it!"

 

Jack says it with his usual careless smile but Kozmotis frowns. Something about that pulls him from his thoughts and makes him blink up at Jack. There’s something...off about that flippant remark.

 

"What?"

 

"Anyway," Jack interrupts, "you don't seem nearly as scared of me this time!"

 

"Wh-" Kozmotis sputters, feeling his train of thought jump tracks for the second time within five minutes, "I wasn't afraid of YOU!"

 

Jack winks, and Kozmotis feels something twist sickly in his gut in response,. "Aww it's ok, I'm pretty intimidating!"

  
This conversation is getting out of hand. Jack is simply lounging about in the air as if he was invited, as if he was wanted, as if he was not in very real danger of being ripped limb from limb and having fingers sink into his chest to-  
  
  
Kozmotis takes a slow breath and holds it for a few moments until the burn in his lungs pulls him from his head. He exhales noisily and narrows his eyes at Jack, who's watching him curiously.

 

"What are you doing here?" He growls.

 

"You already asked that." Jack points out. "I even answered!"  
  
  
“No, you said you were ‘in the area’ which I doubt.” He backs away with a curled lip as Jack walks closer, though he relaxes when he sees that Jack is only moving to the windowsill.  
  
  
Jack needs to leave, he needs to go and stay gone.  It’s been a lot better this time, Kozmotis can focus on the storm and ground himself in the sounds, but he still feels like his skin is crawling over and tightening with the need to stalk over to Jack and-  
  
  
Inhale.  
  
  
  
Exhale.  
  
  
  
Stop going down those mental paths.  
  
  
Jack perches up on the sill, shrugging with a small smile, as oblivious as ever, “I dunno, you’re a hard guy to figure out, and I’m endlessly curious.”

 

"I'm not a puzzle." Kozmotis growls.

 

"Hey now I never said that! Anyway, it looks like you don't get much company up here anyway."

 

"Yes." Kozmotis agrees, "and I prefer it that way." He gives Jack, who seems quite content to sit in the window, a pointed glare. To which Jack just smiles brightly.

 

"You know, I'm getting the feeling you're trying to tell me something."

 

"Out!" Kozmotis snaps, flinging his hands up. "I'm telling you to get out! Since you can't take hints I'll say it plainly. Leave! Stop bothering me!"

 

Jack laughs and stands up on the windowsill, reaching over to open the clasp with a casual flick of his hand. "Aw, you're gonna just toss me out into the storm?"

 

"Storms won't hurt you!" Unfortunately.  
  
  
No wait, it is fortunate, he doesn't want Jack killed.

 

He just needs to keep reminding himself of this. Even if it would make his life a bit less stressful if Jack met an untimely end.

 

A very violent one.  
  
  
One that preferably would involve skin and blood and muscle tearing and-

 

A crack of thunder wrenches him back into himself and he slowly lets out the air he didn't know he was holding. It takes a second for him to realize Jack is talking.

 

"Well I would HATE to be a bother," Jack smiles back at the scowl Komotis shoots at him, "So I'm off. Besides! I've got Guardian things to do. Kids to see, snowstorms to make, the usual."  
  
  
“Wonderful.” Kozmotis mutters.   
  
  
“Yep!” Jack chirps back, opening the window with a lazy grin and leaning out into the storm. “See ya’ next time! And try not to be so grouchy!  
  
  
“There won’t be a next time!” Kozmotis yells, but Jack is already sailing off.  


 

 

 

  
  
  
  
And he left the window open. Kozmotis growls to himself and winces against the driving rain as he yanks the window shut again. He stands there for a few moments, glaring sullenly out into the storm.  
  
  
“This is your fault.” He mutters at it. “I don’t see why he couldn’t get struck by lightning.”  
  
  
Talking to weather phenomena, that was a new one for him.  
  
  
The thunder rumbles almost cheerfully in response.   
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

  
“Don’t touch that.” Kozmotis says into his book.  
  
  
On the other side of the room, Sandy looks up from the locket’s new location on a table by the couch. Kozmotis isn’t ready to wear it again, but he still likes having it within sight.  
  
Sandy raises his brows, floating over with a curious and open look.  
  
  
“No,” Kozmotis replies lightly, turning a page, “I don’t want to talk about it, actually.”  
  
  
He hears an angry flurry of sand and pointedly keeps his attention on his book. “I don’t see why I should open up to anything. As far as I’m concerned, as soon as I’m let out of here I’m going to find somewhere far away where I don’t have to deal with any of you ever again.”  
  
  
It’s been a few days since the last time Jack decided to come dropping in like he was actually wanted, and Kozmotis still feels off balance from it. Everything feels constricting and binding and the walls of his rooms have been feeling smaller and smaller. He’s like a band that has been wound too tight and left waiting to snap.  
  
  
Though at least now it feels more like actual stress, instead of that sinking crawling in his mind.  
  
  
If he’s a bit cranky now, he can take comfort in the fact that this temper is one hundred percent Kozmotis.  
  
  
Sandy puts his hands on his hips, the sand above his head blurring with images.  
  
  
“I think I’m entitled to a few bad moods!” Kozmotis snaps, “It’d probably be a few less bad moods if I was just left alone!”  
  
  
It is a little odd, because Kozmotis can’t remember the last time he had really had a bad flashback. He can’t remember the last time he wondered who he was.  
  
  
He also can’t remember the last time he wanted to punch a wall quite this badly.  
  
  
“Is...this a bad time?” Kozmotis jumps and whips around to stare in dismay as Toothiana hovers just within his window.

  
  
“Oh! No, this is the perfect time!” He exclaims, snapping the book shut, “I was just debating on whether or not my window was actually a front door! You’ve just solved my little puzzle by proving that everyone else does indeed, see it as a constant open invitation!” He sets the book down on the table next to his chair, ignoring Sandy’s crossed arms and scowl as he goes on, “And here I thought I was leaving it open just because I like the air. Now I see that I was in fact, wrong!”

  
  
Toothiana stares at him with wide eyes and the beginning of a frown. "I just...I wanted to ask how you were doing?"

  
  
"Fantastically." Kozmotis drawls.

  
  
The frown comes to her delicate features in full force at that, her feathers bristle out and her arms cross in a mirror of Sandy's pose. "Sandy said you were doing a lot better, I just wanted to see. I'm glad you're less-"

 

 

 

 

 

  
  
"Less like Pitch?" Kozmotis asks conversationally.

  
  
His smile at the silence isn’t a happy one, and he notes the way Tooth tenses as he directs his smirk at her.

  
  
"I meant that I'm glad you're less unstable." She says, voice cautious.

  
  
Kozmotis barks out a laugh, feeling something stirring in his chest. Stable. Really. "That isn't what you meant at all, bird. You're glad all your hard work isn't for naught. You wanted to make sure you're actually rid of him!"

  
  
"Why are you acting like we're your enemies!?" Tooth is practically vibrating in the air now, hands clenched into fists while Sandy watches apprehensively. "We're trying to help! We're the ones who saved-"

  
  
"Don't EVER try to convince yourself that what you did was to save me! You wanted me gone and torn apart!"

  
  
"We wanted PITCH gone, Kozmotis! You-"

  
  
"I am Pitch!"

  
  
"Oh please!" Toothiana scoffs, "Pitch would already be swinging that ridiculous scythe around instead of just yelling!"

 

Kozmotis narrows his eyes. "I'm considering it."

  
  
The shift is instantaneous. Tooths head crest flares and the rest of her sleeks down, turning her into something smooth and sharp.

  
  
"I'd like to see you try." She says coolly.

  
  
Before Kozmotis can make everything worse there's a wild shifting sound from where Sandy is hovering.

  
  
"Oh don't you start!" Kozmotis snaps.

  
  
Tooth blinks, feathers ruffling back up to their usual state. She looks over at Sandy, who throws his hands up like he's done with the both of them. "Uh...sorry Sandy."

  
  
Sandy crosses his arms and gestures at Kozmotis, who opens his book pointedly.

  
  
"No, I'm not going to apologize." He says to the pages.

  
  
He’s aware of Tooth looking over at Sandy as another fall of sand fills the air. Kozmotis glares at the book and turns a page, though he hasn’t actually read anything.  
  
  
“I don’t care. I already said I don’t want any of you here and yet you lot seemed absolutely determined to come barging in whenever you feel like it.” Another sifting sound, and he winces at how loud it sounds in his head. “Oh yes I’m absolutely convinced now!” He gripes. “Insulting my lineage was definitely the way to go, Sandy.”  
  
  
“You can understand Sandy?” Tooth asks. He’s surrounded by morons.  
  
  
“Yes, of course I can.” Kozmotis sighs with a dismissive wave of his hand. He pauses, frowning with his hand still in mid-twirl, and looks up from his book. “You can’t?”  
  
  
Tooth shrugs. “We all learned how to read the pictures he makes with his sand. It’s still a little difficult at times, but after a few centuries it’s pretty easy to figure out what he’s saying.”  
  
  
“So you can’t actually hear him,” Kozmotis looks back to his book, already bored with this conversation. “Lucky you,” He mutters, wincing at the angry cacophony in his head.  
  


“How can you understand him?”  
  
  
“Does anyone around here know what an opened book means?” Kozmotis despairs, looking around in dismay as if someone will take up his cause. No such luck. He sighs noisily and shuts the book again. “Sandy and I are from the same place. Roughly. I think. We’re both from stars at least.” Kozmotis frowns, trying to find the memories that tell him this and coming up short. “I think.”  
  
  
“The stars?”  
  
  
“It’s a long boring story about a race that most likely no longer exists. I was what would once be considered a juvenile star. Sandy is....actually I’m not quite sure.” He frowns over at Sandy, who smiles cheekily and waves. “He’s stardust given a living form. But how he came about I don’t-”  
  
  
 _Something small and bright and hated._  
  
  
  
 _A ship hovering over a world still being born._  
  
  
  
 _A golden light shooting out towards him on a comet with weapons out a golden light that seared their eyes and made them scream in rage something_  
  
  
  
  
 _something small and bright and hated._

  
  
Kozmotis inhales sharply, blinking rapidly as the room comes back into focus.  
  
  
That...was a new one.  
  
  
“Ah, sorry, I’m afraid I-” He stops when he notices that Toothiana is gone. He blinks at the open window, then looks around until he spots Sandy, who’s weaving patterns to himself in his dreamsand.   
  
  
When he spots Kozmotis he smiles and waves. Kozmotis shakes himself and squints out the window again, did it get darker?   
  
  
“How long was I just sitting here wandering around my own head?”  
  
  
Sandy shrugs, waving his hand loosely in the air. His smile sinks into a small worried frown.  
  
  
 **-About a half hour.-**  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  
He can’t stop thinking of the earlier flashback. Something had been...different about it.  
  
  
There are still flashes throughout the rest of the day. Quick blips that come and go through his mind before he can grab onto them and try to make any sense from them.  
  
  
 _A moon that was not a moon._  
  
  
 _Something bright and golden falling       fall ing      fal ling because of him._  
  
  
  
 _Bright light_                           _Pain in his chest._  
  
  
  
 _Falling_  
  
  
 _Falling for an eternity  
                                               
                                                   for an age._  
  


Was he remembering his fall to Earth?  
  
  
 _‘Oh no that can’t be it_.’ He thinks with a snort. ‘It must be one of the OTHER times I fell to a planet. These memories do tend to get blurred.’

  
Sleep obviously wasn't going to happen today, but he lies back in his bed just in case. Maybe he'll black out at some point and can pretend that's as good as sleep.

 

He could always ask Sandy for help.

 

But no, of course his damned pride would never allow-

 

               _They were so proud._  
  
  
 _Even backed onto their dear little moon ship, they stood and stared down the inevitable._

 

_The swarm smiles through the one mouth they share. They have had many many years to grow accustomed to this body, it barely takes any effort now, to move within it_

 

_"Your majesties," They say. They have learned the titles of Enemies. The exalted Tsar and Tsarina-_

 

Kozmotis shoots up, gasping and sweating. Was he asleep? He didn't want to dream this didn't want to see-

 

_"I swear by the stars that bore me and the light that guides me-"_

 

No no no no! He struggles to stay in the now, to focus on the shocks up his legs as he struggles off the bed and his feet hit the hard ground-

 

                    _the ground beneath his knees and the damn armor was weighing him down but he still feels he could float away as he recites the words_

 

_"I will protect the empire, fight to stop the Dark and destroy the Fear. Until the fight takes me or the stars call me I will serve and help those weaker than myself._

 

_I swear obedience to the Tsar, the Tsarina, and the house of Lunanoff."_

 

Stop stop! His feet are on the ground, his hand on the wall and he's in Sandy's castle he is on Earth he is-

 

_"I, Kozmotis Pitchiner, accept the title of General of The-"_

 

_"Kozmotis! Kozmotis there has to be something of you left!"_

 

 _The body they hold shudders_   
  
_slips_   
  
_just for a second before they hiss angrily and control the mouth again. "The Kozmotis again. What is Kozmotis? We have not heard that in a long time. We thought it was forgotten."_

 

_The Tsar glares at them, so proud, even with the shadows binding him._

 

_"He was a great man, who you took." The Tsarina responds while her husband struggles._

 

_They grow tired of this conversation. At least the Pooka had made things interesting. They call their scythe to their hands, walking towards the last true enemies. "You will have to narrow it down from that for us."_

 

_"Koz she's on the ship! Sh-"_

 

_The blade cuts his words off at the throat._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kozmotis chokes, gags as his feet stumble and he drags himself along the wall. He needs the mirror needs to see who he is needs to see something that isn't THIS.

 

He needs to call for Sandy. Sandy could help, Sandy could fight-

 

                  _"Don't fight the fear, little man!"_  
  


 

_"Don't fight the fear, your majesty." They soothe, as the blood wells between their fingers and the blade sinks deeper into her belly.  
  
                  "You'll only sour the flavor."_

 

Kozmotis doesn't remember making it to the bathroom, but he can see his hands clutching the edges of the sink. There's a scream building in his lungs that he can't bring out, that stays trapped under the tight lump in his throat-

 

 _There's a scream when she falls that isn’t hers._   
  
  
  
_A blinding light_   
  
  
  
_a small guard flying at them. Face torn with rage and spear held tight in his hand._   
  
  
_They must have missed that one earlier, a shame._

 

 _The light is so bright that they don't see the spear until it’s sunk deep into their body,_   
  
  
  
  
_until they clutch at the pole sticking from their chest._

 

 _And_   
_they_   
  
_fall._

"You are Kozmotis Pitchiner!" He yells at the mirror, over the screams and visions in his mind.  
  
  
  
Everything stops.

 

The face in the mirror is his own. The silence ringing behind his words fills his head and bounces off the tile walls. He looks harried and worn, but it's the face of Kozmotis Pitchiner.

 

He's ok. He is Kozmotis, and he is alright.

 

The mirror                _smiles._

 

It's a pitying, mocking smile that darkens the reflection, that washes the color out and leaves nothing but shades of black.  Kozmotis stares into scorn filled grey eyes.  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

"You're not actually starting to believe that, are you?"  The mirror asks.

 

Everything goes black.

 

Everything _shatters_.

 

There's screaming in his ears and laughter in his head as he falls back against the wall. He's distantly aware of tacky wetness on his hands as he grips his skull, trying to drown the laughter and tear it from his mind.

 

                                      _Don't fight the fear, Kozmotis!_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sandy finds him still in the bathroom, quiet now as he sits against the tub with his knees folded up, numbly holding his bleeding hands to his chest.

 

"I broke your mirror, sorry," He whispers, voice hoarse. It's a mildly stupid thing to say, he thinks, staring down at the shattered pieces of glass surrounding him.

 

Sandy doesn't comment or ask about the mirror, he simply pulls Kozmotis' hands from him and inspects the cuts and gashes with a frown.

 

"I didn't like what I saw. It lied." Kozmotis explains, even though Sandy didn't ask.

 

Sandy sighs and pulls bandages from stars knows where, Kozmotis wasn't paying attention. They're both quiet as the small man begins cleaning and wrapping the cuts.  


 

 

 

  
  
  
  
Kozmotis stares at the mirror shards all over the floor, feeling oddly numb and silent after all the nonsense in his head earlier.

 

"I thought I was getting better," He finally whispers, hating how his voice hitches halfway through. There’s a breath while he looks away and stares at the tile on the wall. If he turns his head just right he can’t see the light bouncing off the mirror shards or the red on his hands.

 

"I was feeling like myself. I was irritable and moody but it was ME. I thought....I thought I was just me, that I was alright now," He looks down at his hands, at the spots that haven't been tended yet, that are smeared and muddied with partially dry blood. "I guess I was wrong..."

  
Sandy shakes his head, frowning as he finishes off binding Kozmotis' hands. With a final pat he sets the hands down again, looking up at Kozmotis with an encouraging smile.  
  
  
 **-You are getting better-**

 

"My hands would beg to differ," Kozmotis snorts, holding up the freshly bandaged appendages as proof. "As would the fact that I can barely talk from spending a good half hour screaming on the bathroom floor like a lunatic."

 

 **-It doesn't happen as often.** -  Sandy directs his attention to the mess on the floor, waving his hand and sending the shards flying back into place. In a blink the mirror sits above the sink, whole and innocent.

 

"It still happens," His legs are still shaking when he stands, aching from the cramped position he'd curled himself into. "And this was worse. This...I can usually chase the flashbcks away. It had been easier to, recently. But this just kept coming, it wouldn't stop. And it felt-"

 

He can still feel hot blood coming up between his fingers, splattering over his face as the Tsarina coughed her last blood soaked breath.

 

"It felt more real, this time. Then the mirror-"

 

Pitch Black's eyes staring him down, mocking his weakness, his fear. Kozmotis had become used to the very Pitch fashioned thoughts that wandered through, but he'd never outright faced his old self.

 

Never heard the laughter quite so clear and unrelenting.

 

"I think," Kozmotis says conversationally, looking thoughtfully at the mirror, "that I'm going to be sick now."

 

Sandy leaves him with his privacy and a few last shreds of dignity while Kozmotis proves himself right.  
  


 

 

 

 

 

  
He isn’t getting better.  
  
  
The only thing worse, Kozmotis realizes, than being insane; is going insane _again_ after thinking you were getting better.  
  
  
For nearly two weeks Kozmotis had been alright. The flashbacks happened, but they were minor things that he was able to fight through. They had been small blips that he could wave away like smoke.  
  
  
Now his skin crawls. He can’t hold still, can’t do anything without getting up and pacing or scrubbing his hands over his face like he’s hoping to wipe any trace of dark smudge away.  
  
  
The books don’t help anymore. They’re black squiggles and dots on pages that don’t pull him in they way they used to. Everything makes him want to throw them. He’ll find something wrong or something that doesn’t make sense, and instead of finding the thread and following it to an answer he’ll just snarl and throw the book. It’s wrong it’s wrong everything is WRONG.  
  
  
He’ll look in the mirror and see his own face, and wonder how long it will last this time. How long he’ll have until the laughter starts again and he hears his own voice mocking him.  
  
  
Some days he can feel the echo of it raking nails over his brain. The leftovers of that laugh will sink teeth into his mind and drag him so far down that he’ll lose hours.  
  
  
Kozmotis is fraying at the edges. Nothing is any worse than before, technically, but it’s still happening! There had been calm in his mind and now he can feel his skin being ripped away can feel nothing but the rage and the screaming!

  
The walls of his rooms are closing in around him. Every corner, every ridge, every knob in the wood and every thread on the furniture is carved into his mind.

  
Sometimes he wants to pick a table or a chair or something up and throw it into the wall. Watch it shatter and turn into slivers and bits of shredded cloth. Just so that SOMETHING will change. Just so it will look different and look like something that he can remember. Something that he would know was happening now.

  
Sandy offers to help him sleep with the dreamsand again. And Kozmotis knows he needs it. Knows that he should accept.

  
But there was a bit of a miscommunication between his brain and his mouth, because he ends up yelling at Sandy to get out. The idea of giving in and just putting himself in regular little comas again itches at him. He doesn’t want to be kept in check, doesn’t want to be maintained.

  
He wants to feel ok again! Sleep had been hard when he was better but he could sleep! There were hours where he could drift off and not dream of anything, and it was restless and came in short bursts but it was him!

  
Sleep comes to him now by force. It grabs him suddenly after days without it showing a sign of itself. It yanks him down and drowns him with blood and deafens him with screams.

  
He doesn’t even have flashbacks to Pitch’s thoughts anymore. It isn’t like before where he would have his little “episodes.”

  
He’s just falling apart.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  
The floor, Kozmotis decides, is not a very comfortable place.

  
Of course, he makes no move to get up from where he is sitting against the wall. He props his forearms on his bent knees and folds his hands together, leans his head back into the wall and ignores all the aches and pains.

  
His back feels tied and his bones ache, but at least these pains are normal and real and easily explained. It’s a luxury that he intends to savor while he has it.

  
It’s not exactly relaxation, but Kozmotis lets his eyes drift shut anyway. Sometimes he can feign sleep enough that it almost feels like the real thing.

  
“Wow. You look...pretty terrible. What the hell have you been up to? Was your furniture giving you issues again?”

  
He opens his eyes slowly, looking up at the ceiling and letting a slow breath out of his nose.

  
“You really did pick a weird spot to take a nap. Don’t you have a bedroom?”

  
Inhale.

  
Exhale.

  
Two repeats before he lifts his head from the wall to narrow his eyes at Jack.   
  


Jack, who is somehow perched up on his staff in the middle of the room, ignoring both gravity and Kozmotis’ tired glare.

  
“I wasn’t asleep,” Kozmotis finally says flatly. He waits for the rage, for the burning anger and writhing dark that usually begins to roil in him whenever Jack is even thought of.

  
There’s just static. He feels hollowed out and filled with mindless buzzing. Jack is a nuisance, and he can hardly bring himself to care.

  
“If you weren’t, you look like you should be.” Jack says, raising his eyebrows as he looks over Kozmotis.

  
Kozmotis, who is wearing the same rumpled shirt he was yesterday, hasn’t bothered seeing what his hair is doing, and hasn’t slept in about two days now. He’s had better days, he supposes.

  
“I probably should be. What are you doing here?” Kozmotis huffs, moving to push himself up. “Were you just ‘in the area’ again?”

  
Jack holds a hand out to help him up, then quickly pulls it back at the look Kozmotis gives him. “No... I just figured it had been a while since I’d visited last. Just wanted to check in I guess.”

  
Kozmotis growls to himself and moves away from the wall, away from Jack. “More reassurances that I’m not Pitch, I suppose? I’ve been hearing a lot of that lately.”

  
“Why would I say that?” Jack asks, honestly perplexed. Kozmotis whips his head around to stare at him. Jack fidgets a bit under Kozmotis’ intense glare, hands clenching over the staff. “I mean, geeze you definitely GLARE like Pitch did. You don’t seem to act too different, you just have morals I guess. But it doesn’t really matter right? Because Pitch was just kind of you and now you’re fully you...or something.” Jack winces and shrugs with a tilted smile. “Man I don’t know, I’m bad at words.”

  
Kozmotis falls back into his chair, which is only marginally more comfortable than the floor at this point. Jack is an anomaly. Everyone else is concerned with getting rid of Pitch Black, and rightfully so, and Jack...

  
Really it’s impossible to tell what Jack is concerned with.

  
“You really are nothing like them,” Kozmotis says, mainly to himself. Jack frowns in confusion, brow furrowing curiously.

  
“Not like what?”

  
Kozmotis waves his hand dismissively, directing his attention to the window. He doesn’t feel up to this. To Jack, to conversations, to anything. “Like the Guardians,” He explains with a sigh.

  
The temperature drops.

  
“Yeah,” Jack says stiffly. Kozmotis looks over at him with some surprise. Jack looks different with that relaxed, careless smile gone. His shoulders are tense and bunched up and his grip on the staff is white knuckled and sending frost creeping over the grooves of the wood. “Yeah, you’ve said something like that before.”

  
Kozmotis frowns for a moment, confused and not a little bit annoyed. He just wants to be left alone, what is Jack going on abou-

  
_You’ll never be one of them, not really._

  
_Ah..._

  
“Hit a nerve, did I? I didn’t know I had made such a lasting impression.” He isn’t in the mood for Jack being suddenly sensitive. Doesn’t want to dwell on the fact that Jack hasn’t forgotten the things Pitch told him, that he had told him.  
  


“You didn’t,” Jack spits. “Not then.” The switch from calm and relaxed to hostile is fascinating.   
  


_‘He knows,_ ’ something whispers in the back of Kozmotis’ mind, _‘he knows that you knew better than they did. He still knows where he belonged.’_

  
_No. He belonged with them._

  
_Even if they didn’t understand him._

  
Jack needs to leave. Needs to be gone and stay that way.

  
Kozmotis looks at the way Jack glares at him, at the ice crusting over the staff and the challenging fury in his eyes.  
  


“Oh...I get it.” Kozmotis says slowly.

  
He can make Jack leave. He can make Jack stay gone. 

  
“Get what?” Jack says, eyes narrowing.  
  
  
“You still don’t fit in do you?” Kozmotis stands up, narrows his eyes right back. “What’s the matter Jack? Is your new family not everything you had wished for? It must be absolutely grating, being around them sometimes. They’re so sure and confident, even after I threw them off for a bit. They just assume you’ll fall right into their little pack.”

  
“You don’t know anything!”

  
Kozmotis can’t stop the smile, he isn’t even sure which side of him is smiling now. “Oh yes you’ve said something like that before. Look at us, just dwelling in the past.”

  
“What is your problem!?” Jack snaps, throwing his hands up. “You were weird before but what the hell is this!? I thought you were actually looking a bit better last time!”

  
He’s not getting better. He’s never getting better. Everything is pulling him down further and further he can feel himself pulling and tearing with every waking moment and he needs Jack to leave.

  
“Why do you keep coming here Jack?”

  
“I just thought-”

  
“Did you think we could be friends?” Kozmotis hisses, standing up slowly. “Are you so, so desperate that you’re running to the last shell of Pitch Black. Because at least Pitch Black knew what it was like?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
“That’s not-!”

  
“Then what is it? I’d love to hear it! Love to hear why you keep showing up acting like we could just be the most fabulous pals! Why, if you’re SO happy with your Guardian friends, you feel the need to keep coming here and talking to me!”

  
“Yeah I thought we could be friends!” Jack yells. “I mean there was this one bit I saw when- you know what, nevermind! Forget it!” Jack flies over to the window and yanks it open. “Just, forget it!”

  
Kozmotis falls back into his chair, face murderous, “We couldn’t be friends, Jack. If you want a family then I’m afraid you’re coming to the wrong place.”

  
Jack grips his staff, bares his teeth and practically shakes with rage. “You know, everyone else is saying how different you are now. But you haven’t changed a bit!”

  
“That’s what I keep telling everyone.” Kozmotis sighs, looking away as the gust of cold air rips through the room and takes Jack with it.

  
Well, there’s one problem out of the way.

  
He feels even more drained than before. Less static and more poured out. It’s the same shaking, wrung out feeling that’s come over him after the other Jack visits. Kozmotis is hyper aware of his own skin and the way his muscles feel under it, of the air in his lungs and the beating of his heart.

  
It was horribly poetic, that Jack was the only one who wasn’t pretending Kozmotis wasn’t what he was.

  
He always knew better than the others.

  
Kozmotis shakes himself, shakes that thought away before it has the chance to take root and grow. That never ends well and he’s been down that mental path enough times already.

  
He needs to pick himself up, clean himself off, and try to lie down long enough that he can trick himself into thinking he’s asleep. Sometimes that actually works.

  
_You haven’t changed a bit._

  
Of course he hasn’t.

  
He doesn’t remember getting up and moving to the bedroom, but that is a step, or at least a few stumbles, in the right direction.

  
He hasn’t changed a bit.

  
He isn’t getting better.

  
 _‘I’m getting worse.’_  
  
The doorframe slams into his shoulder as he tilts to the side. It jars to the bone and has him gasping, wondering how he got this far. Wondering how much farther he can go.

  
He’s getting worse.

  
“You are Kozmotis Pitchiner,” He gasps. It was an anchor before. Something he could hold onto, as long as he knew who he was.

  
He knows who he is.

  
It             doesn’t           matter.

  
He is Kozmotis Pitchiner, entirely and fully. He is Kozmotis Pitchiner.                               And he’s failing.

  
It doesn’t matter who he is, when the flashbacks never stop. When sleep is only something brief and filled with dark and blood and screaming. When he can’t think of a single happier time without seeing the same smiling faces screaming in terror before a scythe slices through them.

  
He was better. He was sane enough, for a short time, to really know what he was seeing. He stumbled out of the confused maze of his mind and he looked back.

  
And it’s too much. It won’t stop.

  
His knees hit the floor, the air feels like thick water clogging up his lungs and filling his throat.

  
He is Kozmotis Pitchiner, and he still wants to shred the Guardians apart. He still will miss the sound of screams in the night and the feel of terror sliding over his skin and wrapping him up.

  
 _You were always meant for this. This is what you are_.

  
“No no no no I was better I can-” His fingers dig into his skull.

  
He wasn’t better, he was blind. Losing himself in his idiotic books and just pushing his own mind to the side.

  
You haven’t changed a bit.

  
He’s distantly aware of the doorframe hitting his skull, of the ringing in his head that only adds to a strange screaming sound that drifts through the thick air that still clogs his lungs.  
  
  
Inhale.  
  


Exhale.  
  
  
InhaleExhaleInhaleExhale it won’t stop it won’t stop nothing will stop it will never end he’s going to go on forever knowing everything knowing WHO he is and what he was and what he’s done and feeling the very air slice into his skin and nothing will get better everything will claw him away it won’t stop it won’t stop it will NEVER    STO  P  
  
  
“Woah hey! Hey stop that! Come on breathe just... Ok not that fast breathe slower. Slower come on!”  
  
  
The air is cold in his lungs and cold on his face and it grabs at his throat with every inhale and exhale inhalexhaleinhale-  
  
  
“No hey that isn’t slower at all. Come on man, breathe in. Out. In.”  
  
  
There’s a voice underneath the screaming there’s something cold on his shoulder something drifting through the claws in his mind.  
  
  
“It won’t stop-” he chokes. “It won’t stop it’ll never stop it won’t it won’t it won’t-”

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  
  
“No that’s not a step in the right direction there. Just focus on the breathing ok? That helps right? I heard that helps sometimes. Come on you just need to pull out ok? Just keep breathing!”  
  
  
He can hear a loud inhale by him, and a slow exhale that feels like ice on his face. It goes again, a slow in, a steady out and he finds himself matching the rhythm of it without meaning to. The air drags slowly into his lungs, fills him and comes back out in a gust. The blood rushes back to his head and he nearly chokes on the air as he feels his body start piecing itself back together.  
  
  
And then becomes very aware of the cold hand on his shoulder.  
  
  
“Jack?”   
  
  
The hand yanks away and Jack lets out another breath, this one less controlled and more of a shaking relief. “Yeah...yeah uh...sorry you were kind of freaking out and-”  
  
  
Kozmotis coughs on his next breath, but at least the breath comes. He moves his hands from his head and winces when he sees blood under his nails. Jack is crouched only a few feet away, staff laid on the floor behind him and hands curled into nervous fists on his knees. He gives Kozmotis the hesitant twitch of an encouraging smile when their eyes meet.  
  
  
“I uh, I came back because I had thought of something that was really clever and cutting and it was going to completely put you in your place. But I kind of forgot what it was now.”  
  
  
Kozmotis snorts and moves his legs out so he’s sitting, back against the doorframe while he focuses on getting air back in slowly. “I...thank you.”  
  
  
Jack nods, then settles so he’s sitting the short way from Kozmotis, hands nervously linking together and breaking apart. It should be jarring, but Kozmotis finds it hard to care when his brain feels like it’s slowly piecing itself back together and a loose  
exhaustion starts settling into his bones.  
  
  
There’s nothing but the sound of their breathing, the steady passing of air that he trains himself on, hooks himself into.  
  
  
Jack snorts. Drops his head, shoulders shaking.  
  
  
It takes a few moments for Kozmotis to realize the boy is laughing.  
  
  
Jack stops hiding it, pushes his hair back and just lets go into an outright fit of giggles and little snorts.  
  
  
Kozmotis stares at him, open mouthed. He’s not sure if he should be worried that Jack is breaking down or be offended that anything here could be funny.

  
“What-”  
  
  
“You know,” Jack says, still snickering to himself, “That’s the first time you actually managed to legitimately scare me?”  
  
  
He’s insane. Obviously Kozmotis is in fine company because this boy is absolutely mad. Kozmotis opens his mouth, clicks it shut as he fights for something to respond with.  
  
  
Something bubbles in his chest. It’s not until the bubbling comes to the surface that he’s realized he’s started laughing along with Jack. It’s not funny, that was the stupidest thing Jack could have said.  
  
  
Jack starts laughing along with him again and within seconds they’re both just sitting on the floor laughing like a couple of buffoons.  
  
  
“What’s terrible,” Kozmotis gasps out, “is that I finally managed it and I don’t even get to feel it anymore.”

 

 

 

 

 

  
  
  
Jack’s laugh freezes into a shocked smile that doesn’t manage to leave his face, his eyes going comically wide. “Wait, you...you could actually feel it!? Like literally? Oh man, you don’t mean literally do you? Because that would be the creepiest thing ever.”  
  
  
“Out of all the things I did,” Kozmotis says incredulously, “selective empathy is what you find creepy?”  
  
  
“Oh god you DID? You could actually feel fear!? Please do not say you smelled it like some dog or something because that-”  
  
  
“It was more like a taste, actually.” Kozmotis shrugs.  
  
  
Jack stares at him, looking vaguely horrified, “Oh that’s even worse. Oh my god. You tasted fear. That’s disgusting.”  
  
  
“It’s hardly like I went around licking things.”  
  
  
“You might as well have!”  
  
  
Kozmotis rolls his eyes and rests his head back against the hard wood, not even caring about how it digs into his skull.  
  
  
“Huh,” Jack says, “Almost exactly the way I found you. You still look like you could use a nap.”  
  
  
“I haven’t slept in two days.” Kozmotis says, voice distant.

  
  
“I...that isn’t healthy. That does explain your uh...mood earlier.”  
  
  
Kozmotis winces, shifting his legs to a slightly more comfortable position. “I ah...apologize for that. I don’t know-”  
  
  
“You were right, kind of. Not about the Guardians being a bad family. But I did want to try to be friends with you. Still kind of do.”  
  
  
He opens his eyes at that, doesn’t look at Jack, he’s not sure he wants to right now. But he has a feeling he won’t be able to make Jack leave again. “Why?”  
  
  
“I....do you remember Antarctica?”  
  
  
 _Cold and wind and driving snow and the look in Jack’s eyes_  
  
  
  
 _the way Jack had listened to him._  
  
  
  
 _He wouldn’t be alone he would have something of his own he would have a family a friend a-_

 

  
 _‘For the last time, leave me alone!’_   
  


“Yes.” He breathes.  
  


“For a while after that I thought you had just been manipulating me. I was just so mad, you had already tricked me and set the Guardians to turn on me. And I wanted to hate you and it wasn’t really that hard. But...I kept thinking about it I guess. There had been this look you had, when you said you longed for a family. And after a while I realized...you weren’t lying during that, were you?”  
  
  
It’s like dragging fire over his skin, remembering this. Talking about it is torture. “No. I wasn’t.” He grits.  
  
  
“Yeah...yeah that’s what I thought. It was like...there was this other part of Pitch that came through. Like something else had come out and was trying to reach out. And I think that was you. And I saw it again...when you woke up. When you were looking-”  
  
  
“I don’t want to talk about what I was looking for.” Kozmotis says pleadingly..  
  
  
“Ok... Ok but. Whatever that part I saw in Antarctica. I wanted to know that guy better. Wanted to see the person that was hiding beneath Pitch. Because I thought we could be friends. So... Tell me right now to leave. Tell me plainly to go away and I will. But I want to try again. Because honestly? You look like you could use a couple friends. And a nap.”  
  
  
Kozmotis lets a breath out slowly, moves to push himself back up to a standing position. “It’s a bad idea.”  
  
  
“Then tell me to leave.”

  
“You don’t want to be friends with me, Jack.”  
  
  
“Alright then!” Jack chirps as he moves to the window, waving brightly as he leans out into the air. “I’ll see you next time!”  
  
  
Kozmotis opens his mouth to say “Absolutely not” then shuts it. He swallows and curses himself for the selfish fool he is when he nods silently.  
  
  
He doesn’t watch Jack leave, doesn’t find himself hoping that Jack will plummet for some reason into his untimely end.  
  
  
His mind, as he meanders over to his bed, is full of static. But an almost pleasant sort. There’s no way for him to work out what just happened, or what it could mean for the future. Kozmotis doesn’t honestly expect that he and Jack Frost can become friends just by Jack wishing hard enough.  
  
  
But his mind had felt...well not clear, but lighter somehow. He had laughed. He hadn’t felt the expectant pressure that pushes in on him whenever the other Guardians visited.  
  
  
And he hadn’t entertained a single thought about killing Jack, which was a step in the right direction.  
  
  
Perhaps he could take a few more, he thinks, as he falls into the bed.  
  
  
He’s asleep almost as soon as he hits the covers.


	5. Chapter 4

 

 

 

 

"Daddy! Daddy!"  


Kozmotis has a second to brace himself before a small, high speed projectile called Seraphina crashes into his knees. "Woah! We have a low flying princess in the house!" He scoops her up, laughing when she instantly climbs up to sit on his shoulders.  


"Daddy you're home!" Kozmotis has to grab onto her ankles to keep her from toppling over when she throws her arms out into the air with excitement.  


"Am I?" He asks, sounding honestly curious.  


"Yes! You made it!"  


"Ah yes, I barely escaped the evil clutches of..." he drops his voice to a terrified stage whisper while she clutches at his hair in anticipation, "the ambassadors!"  


She gasps in horror and drops her voice to a whisper to match his. "You were gone forever!"  


"Oh come on!" He pats her knee consolingly as he makes his way to the kitchens. "It was only a day, don't be so dramatic. I have no idea where you get that from."

 

 

 

 

 

"It was the longest day ever!" She cries.  


"Was it? I must have missed that on the calendar. Were you good for Uncle Sehstor?"  


"I told him that we're gonna be stars!" She says, her sorrow over the longest day ever forgotten. He waves off a few cooks when they make it to the kitchen and begins rummaging through the cupboards. "Daddy can I have some cookies?"  


"No. Now what did Sehstor say to that information?" Sometimes the best way to avoid a temper tantrum was to just keep Sera talking about something else.  


"He said you were gonna be the brightest star ever!"  


He pauses while grabbing a few pieces of fruit and a plate. That didn’t sound like Sehstor. “Did he? That’s....oddly generous of him.  


“He said, he said it’s cuz you’re full of hot air!”  


Ah. There it is.  


“Well your Uncle Sehstor is a big fur-brain. Don’t listen to a word he says.”  


Seraphina bursts into a fit of scandalized giggles at his horrid insults towards 'Uncle Sehstor.' No doubt he'll be hearing about this later from said fur-brain, Seraphina had a tendency to tattle.  


It was his greatest regret, that he had raised such a shameless loudmouth.  


"So what else did you do today, besides sullying your father's good na-" he stops when, halfway to his mouth, a piece of fruit is snatched from his fingers by a tiny hand from above. "Excuse you."  


"'Scuse me!" Seraphina says sweetly  


"Would you like me to get you a snack?" He leaves off the 'your majesty' but its certainly implied.  


"No, thank you!" Seraphina replies through a mouthful of her ill gotten gains.  


"Of course not."  


They fall into a calm quiet as Kozmotis takes the plate and heads to his study. Seraphina hums a meandering tune to herself as they go, tapping out a beat against the top of her father's head. When he walks into the door, heading to the desk filled with his reports and documents and other important nonsense to sign, the humming tapers off and dies down into quiet.  


"Daddy?" She asks, her voice softer, more serious and hesitant.  


"Hmm?"  


"When are they going to make you leave again?  


He stops by his desk, looking down at it without really seeing all the stacks of papers, several of them talking about future assignments, possible fearling nests and infestations, reports of possessions that he would be sent to take care of. "I don't know love."  


She goes quiet and he sighs, reaching up to pick her up and gently set her down. He keeps his hands on her shoulders when he lowers himself down to one knee to look her in the eye. "You know why I keep needing to go, don't you?"  


"So you can protect us." She says softly. "And rescue princesses."  


"That only happened once." He huffs, though his mouth twitches at the corners before breaking into a full smile. She smiles back hesitantly and he taps a finger under her chin to make that smile grow.  


"Just remember Sera, wherever they send me, however long it is...I'll always come home."  
  
  
  


 

 

 

There had been something almost cathartic in Jack’s last visit. The sleep that followed was so deep that it was a day and a half later that Kozmotis woke up, feeling strangely calm. It was like he was bound up and secure in his own head. Perhaps there had been something to just talking to someone else, someone besides Sandy, and letting himself forget, for a moment, what history lay between them.  


Though, he hadn't really forgotten it. Maybe it was the opposite, the fact that he could joke about it, find something in that twisted and brief mess to laugh about. Either way, he found himself calmed the next morning, able to face the light without wincing and feeling a strange, loose peace. It felt strange, really, he couldn't quite place the calm lethargy. Couldnt put a name to the ease and lack of...something.

 

 

 

 

He felt like himself, he realized later, blinking stupidly at the beginnings of a starchart when it comes to him.

  
He feels like Kozmotis Pitchiner.  
  
  
Of course, this is not the first time this has happened. There was calm before as well, a sure stability that had come over him before. It hadn’t lasted, and he’s not fool enough to think this break will last either.

  
Temporary or not, Kozmotis was determined to enjoy this brief bout of mild sanity. He keeps the window wide open, finds several astronomy books, blank paper, and begins charting in earnest. Might as well try to figure out where in the damn universe he is.  
  
  
Because what else is he going to do in here? At least this is a way to keep his mind and hands occupied while he waits for the other shoe to drop. The more time he spends scribbling over papers and watching the stars, the less time he has to dwell. As long as his mind is occupied, it won't tumble over the usual downward spiral of memories and regret and anger.  
  
  
It also keeps his mind from churning over Jack's little quest for friendship. As well intentioned as it may be, Kozmotis can't see anything coming of it. He can't imagine any world where he and Jack Frost are any sort of friends.  


_'Oh             don't **l  i  e**   to   yourself.'_

 

 

 

 

It's a sigh in the back of his mind, little more than a breeze of a voice sliding through his skull. It's quiet, but it's sure. There are whispers behind it and a mocking inflection that sends a familiar terror dripping down Kozmotis' back.  


_'You’ve imagined it. It was once something you were so sure of.   Jack      Frost’s          friendship. He was to be that companion you had always secretly hoped for. He    u n d e r st o o d."  
  
_

"Shut up." He hisses, fingers nearly snapping the pen in his hand.  


 _'Don’t try denying it_.’ It sighs, as if dealing with a particularly stupid child. ‘ _Denial was never a good look for you. For Us. You used to crave his companionship, can hardly blame him for coming to the party       l a t e.'  
  
_

He drops the pencil to massage his temples, screwing his eyes shut while his lips curl in an aggravated snarl. "I said shut up.  


The whisper drops to a purr, _'or         maybe you **can**    blame him?'  
  
_

"No, I don't. Now be quiet!"  


 _'Arguing with yourself is a sign of    in  san  i   ty_ ' his head sing songs at him. Kozmotis growls low to himself and grinds the heels of his palms against his eyes until he can see bursts of color behind his lids.  
  
  
"Well good thing I'm already insane then!" He snaps at the air.  
  
  
It goes quiet and he drops his hands to glower down at the endless circles and marks on the half-finished star chart. He doesn't even like making star charts.  
  
  
"Although that is a new development." He mutters, pursing his lips as he picks his pencil up again, only to tap it nervously on the paper. Well, looks like his peaceful vacation was coming to an end. Though it seems violent flashbacks and screaming have been replaced with fighting with himself.  
  
  
It's hard to say if this is an improvement or not. And it only makes him more nervous about Jack's resolution. As much as he hated to admit it, he was right (he refused to give the voice a name, especially not THAT name).  
  
  
He should tell Jack to just give up now and be done with it. It wasn’t worth trying to poke at their shared past, not worth the risk, not worth the memories. That and despite all his past fantasies, he honestly can’t see a friendship between them now. Jack had made his choice, and it was a good one. Just because Kozmotis had a new name and a few less inhabitants in his body did not mean anything else had to change.

  
He should tell Jack not to try. Should shut his window and keep it that way until the brat gives up. Which he probably will anyway, eventually.  
  
  
The pencil taps nervously on the paper, leaving little dots and flecks of graphite marring the mathematically precise circles.  
  
  
He never liked making star charts.  
  
  
The window stays open.

 

 

 

  
  
  
Enough time goes by without any sign of Jack that Kozmotis can start pretending that either their conversation never happened, or Jack has given up preemptively.  
  
  
He can’t decide which option is more appealing, so he fluctuates between the two depending on his mood. Weeks go by where he nods to himself and thinks that it’s definitely one or the other. He’s already insane after all, not too far fetched to assume that he just hallucinated the entire strange episode with Jack. Or Jack somehow, miraculously and against all character, came to his senses and realized that attempting to befriend the half mad remains of Pitch Black was close to the stupidest thing he could do. (Only “close” because the stupidest thing was ever showing up to Kozmotis’ window in the first place.)  
  
  
After nearly a month Kozmotis had happily given up entirely.  
  
  
Though he keeps the window open. He likes the breeze.  
  
  
Within that month Kozmotis has had five arguments. Two with Sanderson and three with himself. There have been six flashbacks but none of them have led to blood, screaming, or anything being broken, which he counts as a win.  
  
  
Of course, three arguments with himself does not mean he’s only had issues with his mind going places he doesn’t approve of three times.  
  
  
The whisper is nearly constant.  
  
  
Instead of the roiling shadow in his chest he has the low, sliding voicer in his skull. It’s a soft sound that will drop comments, tell him where he’s slipped up. It doesn’t allow him the luxury of lying to himself, baring everything whenever he tries to block the world out.

  
He has learned that he doesn't have to talk out loud to argue with his other self, which is a relief, since he prefers keeping as much of his insanity to himself that he can.

  
One such internal altercation leaves him standing halfway between his desk and one of the larger bookshelves, frowning down at the stack of books in his arms while he tries to get himself back in line.  


'Go. Away. Why won't you just leave?'

  
' _It's difficult to get rid of yourself, don't be absurd. The sooner you accept that   I    am     you,               the better for all.'_

  
'I'm nothing like you. Now-'

_  
'Oh please! Don't be stupid! It makes me look bad by association.'_

  
'I'm not you! I'm not some self centered-'

_  
'Says the man arguing with himself.'_

  
'Shut up! Not a selfish, proud, arrogant-'

_  
'You don't need fearlings for all that.'_

 

 

"Did you get lost?" The unexpected arrival of a third voice jars him so much that he spasms and drops the entire stack of books. Right onto his foot.

  
"Shit!" He yelps, brain helpfully silenced by the flash of pain that sends him stumbling backwards, half tripping over his throbbing foot. Staggering right back to his desk, the corner of which he locates with his hip. He manages not to double over, keeping his dignity enough to grab onto the edge of the desk and let out a low, pained, hiss.

  
"Wow." Jack says, eyebrows up while he passively watches a few feet away, leaning on his staff. "So the hissing thing wasn't just from possession or whatever it was. Good to know."

  
"No, in this case it was from my shattered hip." Kozmotis mutters, leaning on the desk. "Could you NOT sneak up like that?"  
  


 

 

 

"Hey in my defense, I knocked!" Jack says, putting his hands up in mock surrender. "And I tried getting your attention but you were too busy trying to set your books on fire with your eyes. What's the matter, did they insult you?"

  
"Something like that." He pushes himself off the table, wincing when the voice crawls off with a low, drawn out hiss when he looks at Jack.

  
Well, at least it's crawled off. Finally.

  
"So..." Jack prods at one of the scattered books with the butt of his staff, "that was impressive. I feel like this extreme jumpiness is a new thing?"

  
"You keep sneaking up on me." Kozmotis mutters, looking firmly down at his injured hip-bone, which needs all of his attention at the moment. Obviously.

  
"That's the point! I couldn't do that before! It's like you spent so much time lurking around and scaring people from the shadows that you don't know what to do now that you're  
not all..." Jack gestures vaguely in Kozmotis' direction, as if that explains everything, "shadow...y..." he finishes.

  
"Shadowy." Kozmotis echoes, hoping that his tone is properly converying how remarkably underwhelmed he is by Jack's eloquence.

  
"You don't scare people anymore, so you're all cut off or something. Therefor; jumpy!"

  
"Well that just cleared everything up, what genius."

  
"Better than the guy who got lost halfway through the bookshelf." Jack retorts with a grin.

  
“I wasnt-!” Kozmotis stops, closes his eyes and clenches his jaw, inhales slowly and exhales in a noisy gust. "Is this," he asks, keeping his voice calm, "part of your campaign for friendship? Because it's not going well."  


"Oh!" Jack lights up, it's nauseating. "No, it isn't. But," he grins and reaches into the pocket of his hoodie, pulling out a small rectangular box with a flip of his wrist, “this is!”  


Kozmotis frowns, it's not until Jack tosses the small box in his hand a few times that he figures out what it is. "Cards?"

  
Jack's grin grows and he begins tossing the box from one hand to the other. "Cards! Not too exciting yeah but hey, I could teach you a few solitaire games since, y'know, you're up here by yourself. And I know a few good ones anyway, some of them are actually kinda fun."

  
"Fascinating." Kozmotis sighs, raising his brows when Jack plops himself down cross-legged on the floor. "Oh go ahead, make yourself comfortable."

  
"Thanks! Now you gonna sit down or not?"  


"Excuse me?"  


"Unless you wanna try to play up there while whining about your hip like an old man." Jack shrugs, tapping the cards out of the box and flipping them through his hands in a series of complicated cuts that Kozmotis doesn't bother trying to follow.  


"Why do you have to teach me solitaire on the floor?"  


"Because chairs are uncomfortable. And I'm not teaching you a solitaire game, I figured we could actually play something. You know, it could help break the-" Jack pauses, getting a wide grin and Kozmotis stops him before this can go any further.  


"If you say 'break the ice' I'll break your staff instead and throw you out the window." He grits.  


Jacks grin tilts, his eyes squinting up and he's looking entirely too pleased down there, "-the tension." He finishes, flashing teeth. "You and the staff breaking though, it's like an obsession for you. You need to get that worked out."  


Kozmotis glowers and moves away from the desk, cautiously approaching the spot where Jack sits uncaring on his floor. His approach is watched with some disdain until Jack finally rolls his eyes with an elaborate flourish of cards as he flips and shuffles them.  


"Oh sit down, I don't bite."  


_'I might.'_  


              'Be quiet!'  


And his head had been so nicely calm too. At least for a little while.  


He keeps glowering as he lowers himself awkwardly down on the floor, feeling foolish and sitting stiffly with crossed legs a few feet across from Jack. "I wouldn't have thought you one to play card games." He sniffs, trying at casual and failing. "They involve a lot of sitting still and patience, don't they?"  


Jack's grin somehow tilts even more, almost going sideways and curling at the corners as he looks up through his lashes, dealing the cards deftly between them. "That," Jack says, eyes sparking, "is because you obviously haven't been playing the right games. Ever heard of a game called Mao?"  


Kozmotis frowns, still feeling awkward and idiotic as he picks up his stack of cards. What is he doing here? How did he get to this point where he's willingly sitting on the floor playing some damned card game with Jack Frost. "Can't say I've heard of it."  


Jack's smile turns outright predatory. "Oh good. The only rule I can tell you," he says, picking up his own stack, "is this one."

  
Twenty minutes later, Kozmotis has figured out that the point of the game is to lose your cards. The two of them take turns laying cards from their stacks down into a central pile, which was simple enough.  


But it seemed that every other move, Jack was smiling beatifically and silently placing a card over onto Koz's deck for some unspoken transgression or another. And that's another thing. Jack is being quiet. Deadly silent and smiling sweetly without a single word, which is unsettling enough.  


Kozmotis, without anything to say, frowns at his growing pile of cards. He makes it five more minutes before Jack, who is down to only five cards, smiles again and slides a new card over to Kozmotis' side.  


 

 

 

 

It is, apparently, one card too many.  


"You're making this up!" Kozmotis snaps, throwing his cards down onto the floor in front of him. "There isn't any sense in these so called rules! How am I supposed to figure them out when they're just-STOP THAT!"  


Jack, grinning but still silent, had started moving a card over to Kozmotis' side during his rant. He ignores the yelling and keeps holding his hand out, pushing the card over until Kozmotis has to smack the hand and it's offending card out of the air. "Stop it! None of this makes any sense! You're just randomly pushing cards over here! This isn't a real game and none of your rules are real or-CUT IT OUT!"  


Jack dealt out a card from his hand onto the central stack, then started passing a new one over to Kozmotis, biting his lip like he was barely holding in laughter. Kozmotis throws his hands up in defeat. "Oh! Fine! Go ahead then! Just give me the entire deck while you're at it! No it's no trouble at all! Continue on with your childish nonsense rules and your nonsense game!"  


Jack, who had dealt down three more of his cards (and slid three more over during what would have been Kozmotis' turns) regards his last card. "Mao." He announces, throwing Kozmotis off mid-sentence.  


"Of course! How could I expect you to actually know any games that required something like skill or think-what!? Yes good job that is the name of this farce of a-"  


"I win!" Jack places his last card down, finally exploding into a fit of laughter that nearly sends him toppling over in front of Kozmotis' wide eyed stare.  


"You. Do. NOT!" Kozmotis yells. "You can't win at something that isn't even a real game! Stop laughing! You didn't win anything!"  


"It's not-haaa oh man, it's not my fault you couldn't figure it out!" Jack wipes his eyes and pushes himself back up, gathering the cards and snickering to himself. "Oh my god your face! The whole time!"  


"Couldnt-...couldn't figure WHAT out!?" Kozmotis slams his hands on the floor emphatically. "There wasn't anything to figure out! That was just-"  


"Yeah, nonsense, you said. You couldn't figure out the rules man, just accept it."  


"If there were actual rules I could figure them out fine! I'm a tactician!"  


"Must have been a real crummy one then. You want to play something else?" Jack's smile is all innocent charm as he begins shuffling the deck again. Kozmotis stares, nearly shaking as he snaps his mouth shut.  


"You-" He struggles for words, struggles to keep from leaping over and wringing that neck before tearing every card in half. "You don't even know the meaning of tactics! You're some-"  


"I'm still the one who won. If you wanna give up on Mao we can try something else, no hard feelings."  


It's like a drop of ice down his spine, making him go still and deadly.  


"Deal. The. Cards." Kozmotis growls, voice low and threatening.  


Jack's smile doesn't falter as he shuffles and reshuffles the cards. "You sure? I mean it's not a big deal. We can find something else that you can actually win if you wan-"  


"I'm going to win this game." Kozmotis interrupts, voice still dangerous. "And I'm going to win it by your idiotic, made up rules!"  


Jack raises his eyebrows, looking far too amused at Kozmotis' determination. "This is making a whole lot of things make way more sense. I guess it's good to know you were always a sore loser."  


"Shut up and deal the cards."  


"No problem!" Jack says brightly, laying the cards out between them with that predatory grin again.

 

 

 

Kozmotis doesn't win the second round.  


No one wins the third game be default. It stopped abruptly when, half an hour into it, Kozmotis threw his and the main pile of cards across the room, and Jack was laughing too hard to be any help gathering them back up.  


By the fourth game, Kozmotis is getting a better feel for the rules. The game goes on in silence, as he mentally notes what he was doing with every card that gets put into his pile. Finally, finally, he practically throws a card over at Jack for laying a face card down incorrectly. His triumphant "HAH" earns him a card right back, but the small victory is heartening. Morale is half the battle, after all.  


He doesn't win that game either.  


By the time game four ends, the sun has passed it's highest point and Jack is sprawled on his back on the floor, holding his cards above his head. Kozmotis has no idea how Jack is catching any rule breaking but he somehow has a card ready for every one that Kozmotis breaks.  


Game five is the longest battle. Kozmotis is confident enough that he's catching more and more of Jack's mistakes, grinning viciously every time he tosses a card over onto Jack's pile.  


The constant back and forth of dealing down and gaining cards drags on and on. Kozmotis is only distantly aware of the sky steadily darkening to twilight colors when he lays down his second to last card.  


"Mao!" It feels stupid, but he had already been penalized before for NOT announcing when he hit his last card. Jack raises his eyebrows, then narrows his eyes, watching intently for any mistakes he could call out.  


Jack deals his card (leaving only two, Kozmotis notes) and it's with a toothy grin that Kozmotis throws his final card on the pile.  


"There!"  


Jack sits up, resting an elbow on his knee and propping his chin in his hand. "Well done oh grand tactician, only took you five games."  


"Shut up and get your cards out of here, I still refuse to aknowledge that catastrophe as an actual game." Kozmotis stands and winces at a twinge in his back. Jack may be unphased by sitting on the floor for hours, but Kozmotis can't understand how. While he's stuck twisting and trying to work out the stiffness, Jack gathers the cards and rolls up to his feet in one smooth motion, kicking his staff up into his hand after he puts the deck back into it's box.  


"Here." He tosses the box to Kozmotis, who deftly catches it without thinking. "You keep it! I didn't get around to teaching those solitaire games, but I'm sure you can figure out a few on your own."  


The box is a small, steady weight in his palm. The cardboard is thin and the corners look frayed, the opening flap bent like it had been closed incorrectly a few times and the ink in the blue and red patterns is faded and dim on a greyed out background. It looks suspiciously like something Jack had nicked from some old abandoned lot or shop. Cards don't seem like the sort of thing Jack would carry around, which meant he probably picked it up just for this.  


It didn't make any sense.  


"Why are you so determined about this?" Kozmotis asks, still looking down at the box.  


Jack, who had already been moving to the window, stops, "What? Didn't I already explain that?"  


"You had said you wanted to see more of...the me that you caught a glimpse of in Antarctica." He hadn't forgotten any of Jack's speech, had spent hours replaying the conversation in him mind like an old looped tape. "But it still doesn't make sense. You acknowledge me as being Pitch, but there's no reason for you to want to get to know Pitch any better, even if I am a mildly better version."  


"Well you only threatened to break my staff instead of actually doing it, so I'd say you're more than mildly better than before." Jack shrugs, leaning against the windowsill.  


"It still doesn't make sense! Curiosity isn't any reason to go through this much effort," he holds the box of cards up, "all this, to befriend a man who is either your enemy, or someone you don't know at all!"  


Jack looks at his hand on the staff, twirling it in his fingers and watching the swirls of frost, looking unusually serious. "I guess...well. You're a guy who woke up recently, not really knowing who you are or why you're here, not knowing what to do now and, while the other guys are trying to help, you're pretty much on your own. It's not exactly the same...but I kinda know what that's like."  


_'We're the same we're the same the two of us we-'_  


        ** _'No.'_**

 

"We're not alike." He says aloud, and if his voice is a little louder, has a little more force than intended, Jack doesn't seem to notice.  


"Pff! No, duh." Jack snorts. "And I don't really know what you're going through exactly, but...I understand a little bit at least." He hops up onto the window with the help of a small burst of air, leaning in the frame while he regards Kozmotis. "Look, you can angst and agonize over it all you want if that's your thing, but I'm not budgin! Besides, you didn't snap, wince, or tell me to get the hell out once when we actually got playing! Admit it, you had fun."  


He will admit no such thing.  


"We're not going through that horrible game again." He says instead. "Next time I'm picking something that uses actual strategy and doesnt rely on one of the players flying blind."  


"Next time." Jack's grin goes from ear to ear as he flicks open the latch on the window. "I'll see you then, when I get a chance! Better not pick something boring!"

 

 

 

 

 

He had been able to get a chess set from Sandy a while go, after seeing it mentioned a few times in various books. It looks similar enough to the strategy games he used to enjoy, if a little simpler. He was used to thinking in a three dimensional field, but the game seemed interesting enough.  


Unfortunately, Sandy was a terrible partner to play against. Kozmotis had almost been looking forward to the game, DR he had fully familiarized himself with the rules. But, as it turns out, having a head meant for flights of fancy and dreamweaving didn't lend well to strategy. Sandy had managed to lose two games in record time before shrugging with a serene smile.  


And Kozmotis honestly doesn't expect Jack of all people to be much better, but he has a vain hope.  


Besides, after that chaotic wreck that tried to call itself a card game, he feels justified in forcing Jack to sit through at least one chess match.  


 _'Just look    at    you.'_ The voice says softly, as Kozmotis pulls out the chessboard a week after Jack's last visit. ' _From wanting to rip his limbs apart to waiting for your next  playdate.'_  


"Shut up." Kozmotis says calmly, setting the board down on the small table by the couch. Sandy isn't around to give him concerned looks, and it's difficult remembering to keep his responses silent when he's mentally reviewing various game tactics and plans.  


_'It's utterly charming, how quickly you gave up pretending to dislike him. Ah, wait. Charming wasn't the word I was going for, my mistake.'_  


"One of many, I'm sure." He begins placing the chess pieces on their squares, focusing on keeping them straight.  


**_'Path e t  i   c.'  
  
_ **

The whisper drips through his mind, slinks into his awareness and oozes every bit of disgust he's ever felt for himself.  


_'You'll take whatever you can get, won't you? He rejected you. **US.** We showed him what we could be and he cast us aside! And now as soon as he decides that you're safe, that you're more to his liking, you'll take whatever scraps of companionship you can get.'_  


It's slid down his back now, plipping down over every knob of his vertebrae and winding around his spinal chord.  


"It's just chess." He points out, glad that his voice isn't shaking. "Now go away. You need to remember that you don't exist anymore."  


_'I exist as long as you do. I only exist now because you want me to._

  


_I am everything you won't admit to being. Never forget that.'_

 

It slithers away, the last soft whisper echoing like a shout between Kozmotis' ears. The knight piece he was putting down is still in his hand, halfway to the board and he slowly finishes placing it down. He hadn't realized how tight his grip had been until he unwraps his fingers and sees where the edges of it have left indents on his palm.

 

 

 

 

"Chess."  


Jack manages to fit all his disdain and disbelief into the single word, that and in the way his nose wrinkles up like he's seen something intensely disgusting.  


"Is it?" Kozmotis raises his brows, looking at the chessboard (which has been set up for almost a week now) in mock surprise. "Damn, I thought it was hopscotch."  


"You want me to play chess?" Jack's expression has evolved from 'mild disgust' to 'child told they have to take medicine.' Kozmotis smiles in satisfaction and waves a hand to the chair pulled up on the other side of the board.  


"And I want us to play it in actual chairs this time. You made me go through that farce of a card game, I'm sure one REAL game won't hurt you."  


The mutinous glare moves from the chessboard to the chair and Jack walks over, hopping up and perching on the seat of it like some bizarre bird. "I'm not sure if I still want to be friends with you."  


"And that," Kozmotis says, "is the most intelligent thing I've heard you say. Now stop complaining, you are welcome to give up on your friendship quest, AFTER I get my revenge for the Mao fiasco."  


"Your way too into vengeance. That's what kept getting you into trouble before." Jack quips, eyeing the chess set with suspicion.  


"Fortunately, the stakes are a bit less high this time. Be quiet and let me explain the rules so you have a fighting chance."  


"Not explaining the rules is the whole point of Mao." Jack mutters, mulish and sulking as Kozmotis begins explaining the game.  


He's pretty sure this entire game is going to be a disaster, but Jack has to at least be better than Sandy. And if not, Kozmotis has to admit that Jack's dark scowl and obvious unhappiness is almost as entertaining as an actual game of chess would be.

 

 

 

Jack isn't better than Sandy. Not as far as Kozmotis can tell at least. It might be a different story if the boy actually tried.  


Instead, Jack spends the entire game sullenly pushing his pieces into place, sighing loudly whenever Kozmotis corrects him or reminds him of what pieces can go where. He has a feeling that Jack was too busy feeling sorry for himself to actually pay attention to the rules.  


"This isn't a game." Jack says at one point, curled in his chair and slouched so far down that he's hiding behind his knees, glaring out from under the hood that got pulled up ten minutes ago. "Games are fun."  


"If you actually try it can get fun." Kozmotis says mildly, smiling serenly as he knocks over one of Jack's pawns and plucks it off the board. Jack's scowl deepens as Kozmotis drops the vanquished pawn next to him.  


"I've never seen anyone have fun playing chess. Have you actually watched a chess game? There's never any smiling or laughing or anything. They just sit there staring at the board and making noises every time the other guy moves. It's boring!"  


"I'm having fun." Kozmotis says brightly. Jack narrows his eyes, shifting his disdain from the board to his opponent instead. It's a nice change of pace, Kozmotis thinks, being the one smiling cheerfuly while Jack scowls and mutters. He could get used to this.  


"So," Jack says slowly, pursing his lips in thought as he scoots a knight along the board. "The point of this game is, when I knock your pieces over, I win, right?"  


Trust Jack Frost to turn a complicated game of strategy and intellect and boil it down into the most brutish definition. Kozmotis lets out a weary sigh, rolling his eyes up at the unfairness of it all. "In essence, yes, you could say that. But it really is a lot more compli-"  


The board, and all the pieces on it, flips violently from the sudden gust of wind knocking into it. It falls to the ground, various pieces scattering all over the floor while Kozmotis sits and stares wide eyed at Jack.  


 

 

Who grins back.  


"I win."

 

Kozmotis looks at Jack. He looks down at the scattered chess set. He looks back up at Jack. "Wha-!"  


"Oh! Sorry, got that wrong." Jack leans back in his chair, grinning wide and crossing his arms behind his head. "Check mate."

 

  


 

There was a fair bit of yelling, several harsh things were said, and it only calmed down when Kozmotis started advancing to truly wring the brat's neck, which ended with him standing and staring blank eyed in the distance trying not to hyperventilate.  


After the voice in his head had been shoved back into the darker, quieter recesses of his mind and Jack had snapped him from his daze with a blast of ice up his spine _(which had led to more yelling)_ , it was agreed (demanded) that Jack be the one to pick the chess set up before Kozmotis had another fit.  


"I don't see what the big deal is." Jack sulks, shoving the chess pieces back into their box. "Chess isn't a real game. Chess is for old people who forgot how to have fun.  


"I'm older than this world and recently regained self awareness after spending what could have been millions of years as a personification of fear. I probably pass the qualifications for playing chess." Kozmotis sniffs, sitting primly in his chair while Jack finishes putting the set away.  


"Yeah but I'm not!" Jack huffs, then blinks and stops frowning at the chess set box to look up at Kozmotis. "Wait, you're how old?!"  


"Old enough to play chess."  


"No, seriously! How are you older than the earth?"  


Kozmotis sighs heavily, realizing that Jack isn't going to back off on this. "I was born somewhere else? It's not a difficult concept. And I can only go by the downright primitive star mapping that I can do from here but I'm quite sure I was in a different galaxy. It's hard to say though, I have a bit of a...gap in my memories."  


Jack stares at him from where he haphazardly shoves the chess set onto a shelf, eyes wide. Slowly, a wide grin grows over his face. "You're an alien." He looks close to vibrating with the revelation, eyes alight with glee. It's confusing until Kozmotis remembers that this planet was still a bit primitive when it came to star travel.  


"Does it count," he asks, "when I've been here longer than humans have and ended up tied into the actual psyche of said humans when I was turned into the spectre of fear for this world?"  


"It totally counts, you're an alien!" Jack crows. "Did you have a spaceship?! Please tell me you did!"  


There's a twitch at the corners of his mouth. He usually doesn't like thinking about that time. There was too much tangled within any thoughts of the past, every bright memory seemed to come with a mirror reminding him what happened later. Sandy has tried bringing it up a few times, tried to talk about their own encounter above the young Earth with no success.

  
But Jack's enthusiasm is oddly infectious. It's easier to think about the past when viewed as something fantastical and far off, and not as a testament to all that he had lost.  


"I technically was in command of an entire navy's worth of spaceships. But I did have one of my own."  


"Oh my god." Jack's grin somehow grows and Kozmotis wonders if it's even possible for someone to smile so widely so often. "You were living scifi. With actual space ships and everything! How did you end up here?"  


A bright light.

 

           A       long                       fall.  


Kozmotis shakes himself, a shiver climbing up his spine and the faint, unintelligible whispers stirring in the back of his mind. "It...there was a fight. I fell. I don't remember many details."  


Jack's eyebrows furrow together, "A fight? With what?"  


"Jack." There must be something in the way he says it, perhaps it came out harsher than he meant it to. But in any case, Jack starts slightly and goes quiet, watching him carefully while he inhales,  


                                 exhales

 

          and repeats.

 

"Well," Jack says slowly, the ever present smile working its way back onto his face, "in any case, I know exactly what we're doing next time I come here." He leaves it at that, though he still watches Kozmotis, a million questions whirling behind his eyes.  


"No more games." Kozmotis sighs, rubbing his temple in an attempt to ease away the headache thats beginning to form.  


"Nooo no! Definitely not. You're the most sore loser I've ever met. Which I really should have expected, now that I think about it."  


"You flipped the chess board." Kozmotis points out, making himself relax back into the chair, grateful that the conversation has moved to safer areas again.  


"That wasn't a game, that was torture." Jack says flippantly, grabbing his staff from where he propped it against the couch and leaning on it. "And see if Sandy can get you a TV, we are totally watching some scifi."  


Kozmotis blinks up at the ceiling from where he has his head tilted back against the chair cusions, frowning in confusion. Damn humans, constantly making up new words every other year. Jack had rattled off that phrase earlier but he hadn't really taken note of it. "Sai what?"  


"Oh no. No no no. You can't be an alien who hasn't heard of scifi."  


"Anything that wasn't horror on television wasn't really my area of expertise and so I didn't pay attention to it. And actually, I only paid attention to the horror to mock humanities weak attempts at touching into their own deep fears."  


"Yeah," Jack snorts, "that figures. Well we are going to fix that. No one who has been on an actual real life spaceship can't not watch scifi."  


"Are you actually going to explain, at any point, what sai fai is?" Kozmotis asks. Though, to be honest, he's almost afraid of knowing the details about something that Jack is so excited about. He has already seen Jack's idea of fun and considers himself once burned.  


"It's science fiction! Space ships! Aliens! All this cool futuristic stuff!"  


He decides not to point out that neither space ships, nor aliens, were fictional in any way. "And how, during your adventures riding on the winds and causing snow storms, did you discover this genre?"  


Jack shrugs with one shoulder, chin propped under the crook of his staff, "Well the kids go inside eventually. A lot of times they'd all get their hot chocolate and watch some movies. I started watching from outside because I thought the TV was this really cool crazy thing and then I just got into it."  


"I don't have any say in this." Kozmotis knows better than to make that a question.  


"Of course not." Jack breezes, strolling over to the window and flipping it open. "I let you pick what we're doing and you pulled out the old man games. I'm not making that mistake again."  


"You could stop coming entirely."  


It's said to the ceiling, calmly and bluntly, and it isn't Kozmotis' usual grousing. It's a question, just a well hidden one.  


Jack leans back against the windowsill, twirling the staff in his hand while he looks at Kozmotis thoughtfully. "Has it really been that bad though?"  


It should be.  


Jack is grating, loud, too happy for anyone who has been ignored for three centuries, and Kozmotis still wants to peel his skin off sometimes. Having Jack around should be painful, it should be nails raking over a board in his mind. A constant reminder of recent mistakes. Everything between them was too much, too raw and sharp in his mind.  


It was torture. Talking to him, having him around. Feeling everything that had happened between them colliding with the person he was fighting to be.  


"It should be." He finally says.  


Jack tilts his head. "But is it?"  


It should be.  


It _needs_ to be.  


Playing childish games with Jack, having him visit, sitting across from him. It _should_ be torture.  


"No. It isn't."


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh as always we're sorry about the delay guys!! You fans are always so great and patient and I want to hug every single one of you!!!!
> 
> And, as always, HUGE thanks to Nina, aka fanartdrawer, for her amazing art! If it weren't for you, this fic would have been abandoned long ago and I would have given up on everything. Ur da best GUrl.
> 
> And thanks to all the friends on skype and my phone who put up with me either complaining about how I needed to write or sending them random tidbits demanding reviews and critique.

 

 

 

“So I hear that I’m a fur brain who is not to be listened to."

  
Kozmotis does not start laughing right on the spot.  
  


He feels like this may be his greatest accomplishment to date. The fact that he keeps a stoic face is a far more harrowing deed than any battle he has been in.

  
Sehstor stands by him on the main deck of the ship, staring out through shields into the endless star speckled void around them, while his prediction about Seraphina’s big mouth comes true. The fact that he keeps calm is a damned act of the utmost fortitude and personal discipline.  
  
  
Kozmotis sniffs, shifts his weight, his forehead creases just slightly between the brows. Stars he’s good, he should get a medal. Another one at least, he has enough as it is, but he should get another one for this moment.  
  
  
“It really is the ultimate shame of my life,” he sighs, watching the nebulae and galaxies in the distance, “that my own flesh and blood would betray me so callously.”  
  
  
Sehstor barely twitches a whisker. They both should get medals. “She’s just smart. Girl knows what information is valuable, and that sometimes doing the right thing comes before family. Musta been something she learned because The Egg knows it wasn’t inherited.”  
  
  
That’s just low. Kozmotis narrows his eyes at the field of stars, then glances at Sehstor, who doesn’t look away from the shields. Only the slight twitch of his ear gives him away, the bastard.  
  
  
“You told her I was full of hot air.” Kozmotis says, voice flat.  
  
  
Sehstor shrugs. “I was going easy on you. Can’t tell a poor girl that her dad is full of shit, can I? It’d break her heart, knowing she’d be related to that. The shame of being your daughter would haunt the dear for the rest of her life. And you shits live long enough as it is.”  
  
  
Kozmotis punches him in the arm, hard. Half the crew jumps at the yelp and curse when the Pookah leaps a couple feet into the air. It’s a new lot, and they have yet to adjust to the sudden and often violent outbursts from their esteemed, legendary Generals.  
  
  
“Ya fucking bastard! You had your gauntlets on!”  
  
  
“You’re lucky we need to set a good image for the men.” Kozmotis growls, ignoring the fact that said men are staring wide eyed at the spectacle their two commanders are making. He glances over his shoulder at the officers on the bridge and raises a brow. “Not that I’d ever expect them to let a little foolishness distract them from their work.”  
  
  
He pauses for some dramatic effect while the officers scramble back to their various duties. It's always too much fun taking a new crew out. As attached as he was to his core officers, it was farrrr too fun seeing how jumpy a new batch was as their expectations violently collided with the reality of being on a vessel with The Golden General.  
  
  
“Stop stroking your ego.” Sehstor mutters, still rubbing his arm.  
  
  
Kozmotis doesn’t fight the grin this time. “No.”

 

 

  
  
He looks back to the window, and the sight of his moon, now smaller and smaller, sobers him in an instant.

  
It always shrinks far too quickly, and no matter how many years have gone by, he still can’t stop the wrenching twist of apprehension in his chest.  
  
  
Can never forget the one time he came back to a shattered world.   
  
  
The blood on his hands, on his blade, on the deck of the ship. Bodies and blood and give of a sword through flesh and bone. Black and red smeared over the golden white pillars of his home and the distant sound of a crying baby girl.   
  
  
“She’ll be alright.” Sehstor says quietly. “Your fits have seen to it that your oversized rock has as much protection as the Imperial Moon.”  
  
  
“She’ll be alright, because I’ve made sure that nothing is going to happen to her.” Kozmotis says quietly, not taking his eyes off his home, now barely larger than the head of a pin.  
  
  
“Koz." Sehstor sighs, ears falling back as he looks up at his old friend. "You don’t have to keep going on every mission they ask   
you to. I think at this point you’re allowed to maybe ask for some time off to stay with her.”  
  
  
“No.” Kozmotis shakes his head, crosses his arms in front of him stiffly. “No. I need to finish this. The universe isn’t safe for her yet and I can’t sit back until I’m done.”   
  
Sehstor snorts and flicks one ear. “You’re a walking cliche, you know that? As long as I don’t have to try to talk you down from any more bloodbaths, alright? Last time you nearly disemboweled me, and I don’t plan on reliving that experience.”  
  
  
“If I disembowel you,” Kozmotis says, voice very serious, “you won’t relive anything.”  
  
  
“Thank you for that. That’s very comforting. Your words are like a damn balm to my worried soul.”  
  
  
The moon vanishes into a spec, lost in the sea of stars and void, and Kozmotis smiles. “Well, what are friends for?”

 

 

 

 

**  
  
**

He starts looking forward to Jack's visits.

  
It's unclear when exactly that development started.  
  
  
It could have been shortly after the chess match.   
  
  
It could have been after Jack came back with an eager grin and a thin DVD box in one hand. Popping up in the window and strolling around like he was actually welcome instead of just tolerated.  
  
  
Kozmotis had managed to get Sandy to get a television into his quarters with minimal fuss (he still hasn’t asked where Sandy gets most of these things, and still doesn’t really want to. The thing had sat untouched like some dark ominous talisman to this friendship that he was going to be subjected to).  
  
  
It could have been when they sat awkwardly on opposite ends of the couch. Jack perched up on the balls of his feet because the overactive brat seemed allergic to sitting down, and Kozmotis jammed up against them armrest with his arms folded tight across his chest and his knees folded up like he was trying to keep any stray body parts from getting too close.

 

 

  
  
At first, even that distance doesn’t feel far enough.   
  
  
Kozmotis may be better, overall, but Jack is still dangerously close and the proximity grates on his skin and fills his head with a static buzz of rage and shadow. The air between them is static and thick and thin with cold all at once and he can’t pull himself far enough away.  
  
  
                _Too late too late too little too late Jackson Overland Frost where were you where were you when we truly had something where were you when we were alone in the world where were you when I was whole and the butterflies hadn’t fallen where        were   you_  
  
                    _Stop_  
  
 _Bre_ athe  
  
Jack lets him keep his distance without any comment or even an odd glance. Slowly, steadily, Kozmotis begins to relax.  
  
  
The meetings (Get togethers? Encounters? What would he call these odd visits where they just sat and watched corny science fiction anyway?) go on, his posture slowly gives from stiff and hyperaware to a steadily growing half hazard spread of limbs.  
  
  
He really hadn’t noticed the change until halfway through an episode of Star Trek: Voyager (which he will refuse to admit to liking, though he has a feeling Jack is catching on to the lack of sarcasm) when he realized he was in a half sprawl with one leg stretched over the couch and the other hanging loosely to the floor.   
  
  
When he realizes what’s going on, he’s almost insulted by the implications. At some point, between several versions of Star Wars and the newer Star Trek Movies, completely without his permission, some part of him had decided that Jack was safe.

  
Somehow he had managed to get comfortable enough to let himself actually relax, which was a mistake that he can't believe slipped past him until it was too late. He can't let himself get comfortable, because Jack is certainly and most definitely not. safe.

**  
  
  
  
  
**

But he still can’t really pinpoint when, exactly, that Jack had become less of a burden.

**  
  
**

  
It could have been two episodes into Doctor Who, when Kozmotis threw a pillow at the television as hard as he could because he could not STAND the show making one more damn pun about that absurd character name. Or when he threw a book at it instead for continuously spewing the most nonsensical scientific technobabble he had ever heard.

  
The rest of the episode was missed because Jack started laughing so hard that he fell off the couch. Kozmotis shifted to throwing things at him instead, as punishment for making him watch this ridiculous nonsense.

**  
  
  
  
**

Or perhaps it was after that. When Jack left, and a week later Kozmotis found himself actually wondering when he'd get another visit.  While the days were growing longer and warmer in the South where Sandy's castle resided, Jack's season was coming up in the Northern hemisphere.

  
"I don't know when I'll be able to drop by again, most of my belief is up there still and there are a lot of snowball fights to start!" Jack grins leaning in the window. "You'll have to wait to find out what happens to the Doctor.

  
Kozmotis sniffs and turns a page in his book, curled sideways in the large chair with his head crammed against the armrest, "Please, by all means, I beg you to take as much time as you need."

  
"You say the sweetest things Kozzy." Jack sighs dramatically, falling out the window and onto the wind.

  
"Don't call me that." Kozmotis growls, fully aware that Jack can't hear him.

**  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**

He keeps hanging around the window, wondering just how many snowball fights the brat needs to make.

**  
  
  
  
  
  
**

The silence in the room is sharp and pulls at him, and he finds himself wishing for a low voice cracking some absurd joke or making fun of the way he sits, just so he can hear something besides himself. He doesn't tell Jack that he sprawls and stretches over the furniture because some deranged part of his head decided that Jack was safe enough to relax around.

**  
  
  
  
**

But Jack isn't safe. Isn't safe for him isn't safe from him. He has to keep reminding himself that this is not something he can allow himself to become comfortable with.

  
He can't be friends with Jack Frost.

**  
  
**

He can't.

**  
  
**

_‘You’re too selfish to actually tell him to give up._ ’ The voice says sliding through when he glances at the window one day. _‘You’re too lonely, too pathetic. Too selfish to admit that you don’t deserve a friend.’_ He grits his teeth until he can hear his molars grinding into each other, hoping the grating will drown out the voice. But it just drops to a hiss, softer yet so much louder. _‘You’re too afraid. Afraid of remembering what happened to the last friend you had.’_

 

 

 

  
   _Rusty colored fur dark and matted with blood                                          a blue and gold uniform torn by a blade_

__

_“Koz no, stars no.”_

__

This time he doesn’t try arguing with the voice, and it fades away with a dark laugh.

****

“Kirk needs to be stripped of his rank and probably court martialed.”  
  
  
“Ok.” Jack says, narrowing his eyes and pointing a threatening finger at Kozmotis from the other side of the couch. “First of all, this is Starfleet, not the military, he can’t be court martialed. Secondly, don’t you ever insult Captain James Tiberius Kirk like that again. I won’t stand for that blasphemy. He is the greatest captain ever and-”  
  
  
“He’s supposedly in charge of what appears to be a scientific expedition to discover new worlds and interact with other civilizations! And as a scientific explorer he has to keep as much objectivity as he can and stay impersonal with his proceedings!”  
  
  
Jack looks bored, “Ok? Go on Mr. Spock.”  
  
  
“And- shut up- AND how is he supposed to be an impersonal observer when he can’t keep his pants on around aliens who even slightly resemble females!?”  
  
  
“He’s just gathering data on how they do it.”  
  
  
“Do it.” Kozmotis repeats, lips curling in distaste. “Really?”  
  
  
“It’s for science.” Jack’s face is completely serious.  
  
  
“You’re a moron.”

  
Jack waves the insult away with an airy flap of his hand, “Since when are you an expert on scientific expeditions or whatever?”

 

  
  
  
“Since I captained a few.” Kozmotis growls. That get’s Jack’s attention. The brat shoots up from  his loose flop on the seat of the couch, face lighting up.   
  
  
“No way!”  
  
  
Jack has that wide grin (really though, when isn’t Jack grinning like an idiot) and a bright gleam in his eyes as he perches up on the back of the couch, smiling at Kozmotis with fluttering expectation. He isn't going to let this one go.  
  
  
“You look like a deranged bird.” Kozmotis informs him. Because he does.  
  
  
“Oh don’t get all coy now! Come on, tell me about it!” Jack urges, practically bouncing on the spot.  
  
  
Kozmotis looks back at the TV, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I’m not here to feed your strange space obsession, you have this nonsense for that.” He tips his chin in the direction of the screen, where Kirk and the pointy eared second are busy staring at each other meaningfully. The two characters share a grin that speaks of years of working together, and Kozmotis rapidly blinks away the image of a smug grin and twitching ears.

  
“Yeah but you’re the real thing! Besides, all you ever do is sit there and either glare or sulk or argue with yourself. Talk a bit and get out of that loony head for a few minutes!”  
  
  
Kozmotis twists his head around to stare at Jack again, mouth almost falling open in complete shock. “Are you emotionally manipulating me into telling you what amount to bedtime stories about space adventures?!”  
  
  
Jack’s smile is pure innocence. “I’m not going to bed.”  
  
  
“And I’m not going to talk about it. I don’t like thinking about-”   
  
  
“What? Awesome adventures? Jumping the stars and discovering bright new worlds? Come oonnnn what could be so bad?”  
  
  
                          -           _“Come ON Sehs! What could be so bad?”_  
  
 _“Getting stuck in a can with you for several years?” Sehstor shoots back without missing a beat._  
  
 _“We could be on one of the voyages that finds a new galaxy! We could be the first in the whole empire to set                                               foot on a planet!”_  
  
 _Sehstor’s fur bristles and he shifts uncomfortably. “I’m not part of your empire Koz. I’m here as part of the                                           alliance, remember? I’m….Pookah aren’t used to being separated from the family clan. It’d                                                                      be...difficult...being alone like that.”_  
  
 _“Hey fuck you.” Koz snorts. “You have me out there.”_  
  
 _“Ugh just you? STARS no Koz!”_

_**  
  
** _

  
  
_“Koz no oh Stars no…”               -_  
  
“I don’t like thinking about what was lost!” He snaps, shouting over the echoes and the sound of fur and flesh ripping.

 

                                    _"If I disembowel you, you won't relive anything."_  
  
  
Jack stops bouncing, smile sliding away and he settles back down into a sedate, tucked up crouch. “Ok. Um, yeah. That’s. Ok. Do you want to keep watching this? This doesn’t bring like...bad memories back does it?”  
  
Kozmotis snorts, quickly latching onto something that won’t make him think about...well...anything else. “This drivel is so far removed from reality that any trauma it causes is entirely new and caused by said drivel.”  
  
Jack blinks, then the smile make a tentative return. “You’re so full of shit, you just want to watch the next episode."  
  
Kozmotis snorts in disgust, and settles back onto the couch.   
  
Halfway through the next episode, he uncrosses his arms, and finds himself starting to sprawl again.  
  


 

 

"Hey! Guess who got their hands on Blade Runner!"  
  


Kozmotis had been feeling unusually calm and peaceful this morning. A shower ( _wonderful invention, thank Stars this planet has finally caught up with that_ ) had been a welcome brief escape, and he was feeling relaxed and loose and calm until he nearly brains himself on the bathroom door as he walks out, still dripping but thankfully freshly dressed. "Jack?!"

  
Jack waves, movie in hand, from where he's perched in the window, looking like he's been there for a while. "Correct! What's up? I went ahead and let myself in. Gotta say, I'm really disappointed that you don't sing in the shower."

 

 

"Terribly sorry that I let you down." Kozmotis mutters, pushing a hand back through his hair to get it in place. Jack hops down from the couch, tossing the movie from one hand to the other as he heads to the television. Luckily Sandy really didn’t question it when Kozmotis had asked for one a few months ago. Apparently saying “If I don’t have some form of entertainment I’m going to try to start reconstructing the walls” was all it took.  
  
  
"Eh, I'll let you off the hook this time. What are friends for, right?"

  
Kozmotis tenses up halfway to the couch, it’s the first time either of them has used the f-word.

     _'How sweet, now that you're tame and caged and docile, you're acceptable friend material. Isn't that just-'_

__

_'Stop it.'_

        _'What do you think it will look like? When you finally snap back to what you really are. When he gets close enough for you to                              reach out and-'_

' _Stop it!'_

__

_'Do you think he'll  s c r e a m?'_

__

Something flutters in front of his eyes and he starts back, blinking rapidly until he realizes that it's Jack's hand waving in front of him.

  
"Hello, Earth to Kozzy? Come in Kozzy. You're letting your head talk at you too much again." Jack looks up at him with raised eyebrows, the small smile doing little to hide the actual concern on his face.

  
_'And he's so worried! How adorable. How perfectly charming. Do you think he'll be as worried when you stop being a broken husk? When you remember who you are, what we are, and-'_

  
"You need to stop coming here." Kozmotis finally says, letting it out in a rush and stepping back. Puts distance between himself and Jack  (distance, he needs to keep his distance how could he forget about distance?) while laughter bounces around between his ears. "You can't-"

  
"What, we're on this again? Come on Koz! We've been having fun! Is this because you cried at E.T?"

  
"You don't understand! It's not safe! It- I didn't cry!" 

  
Jack grins and raises his eyebrows. “You cried a little bit. It’s ok Koz, I won’t tell a soul.”  
  
  
“I wasn’t crying! You were the one who wouldn’t shut up the entire time about how gorgeous a movie it was!”  
  
  
“Yeah and I totally saw some tears over there. No need to hide it.”  
  
  
“You’re changing the subject!”  
  
  
Jack leans on his staff, still beaming that thousand watt grin. “Yep.” He winks and adds, “Worked, didn’t it?”  
  


Technically, temporarily, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s having this little issue in the first place. It doesn’t change the fact that he keeps hearing himself wanting to rip Jack apart and Jack is treating it like it’s some temporary nuisance that can be swept away with distractions and jokes. "This isn't a game Jack. It's not-" He takes a breath, tries to find words and put them in some semblance of order that won’t completely terrorize Jack. "You coming here, over and over again, it only helps in short bursts. I’m not- you don't understand!"  
  


"Alright." Jack says easily, hopping up to crouch on the crook of his staff, "explain it then. Use your words."  
  


"You keep coming here, determined to be friends and play games and- you have no idea. You seriously have no idea what sort of danger you're putting yourself into every time!"  
  


"Yeah." Jack drawls, "You might throw another card deck at me."  
  


"It's not a joke!" Kozmotis explodes. Jack pauses, shifts for a second as the smile falls away and he hops down from his staff with a small nod, watching as Kozmotis begins to pace the room.  
  


"Ok." Jack says carefully, fingers moving nervously on the staff. "Ok. Sorry I- yeah go on."  
  


"I'm not suddenly all nice and safe again just because the fearlings were chased away." Kozmotis begins, hands twitching at his sides while he fights the urge to grab at his hair again. "It's- There's still some of it left. I feel it every day pulling at me and dragging me down. Every time I think it's better, it just changes. It used to be just urges. I'd look at you, look at the Guardians, I'd just think about them, and-" he pauses to take a slow breath, steadying himself, "I'd want to rip you, them, apart."  
  


Jack stays mercifully quiet, face unreadable while Kozmotis takes another few breaths.  
  


"Now it's like a voice, it IS a voice, in the back of my head." He runs his hand back through his hair with a wince when he feels the low angry hiss in his skull. "Like every part of me that was Pitch Black is condensing into this once voice, not letting me forget what I was, what part of me still is. I hear it when you're here and whenever I try to pretend that I'm alright. While you put in your movies and bring your games, it's telling me to kill you, HOW to kill you. Even when I don't hear it- when it's not making a sound, I-...I feel it, just crouching within the corners of my mind, waiting for me to slip." He trails off, a chill rushing up his spine and his hands running back over his skull, like the action will somehow brush away the memories and feel of that whisper.  
  


"You can't keep coming here." He says again. "It's not-...I appreciate what you're trying to do. I know. But-"

  
"You're doing a really good job though." Jack interrupts. Kozmotis pulls his hands down and frowns at him, confused.

  
"What?"

  
"With keeping it under wraps I guess." Jack shrugs. "Honestly! You talk like you're constantly on the edge of exploding at everyone, but I can hardly tell. If there's a bit of the old guy in there, you're doing a great job keeping him locked in. The most I see on the outside is the occasional wince or when you zone out. And even then you always look like you're shaking it off."  
  


"Jack just because I don't LOOK bad doesn't mean-"  
  


"No, it does! Hear me out on this ok?" Jack pauses to make sure Kozmotis is going to let him talk, then he nods and goes on. "You keep it under control. You manage it and don't let any of that crazy out! If it tells you to kill things then all you're doing is frowning at thin air or spacing out a little. The closest to violence or anger I've seen you get is when you're losing some game or a movie makes a dumb joke!"  
  


"Jack-"  
  


"And-" Jack interrupts again, "you're relaxing more! You don't tense up and glare whenever I come in, until now you haven't told me to get out, you actually enjoyed E.T, and I know for a fact that you’re nursing a huge mancrush on Picard.  Don't try to tell me you aren’t!"  
  


"It's not-"  
  


"How about this. If you try anything," Jack hefts his staff onto this shoulder with a grin, "I'll throw so much ice at you, it'll take years to thaw your ass out. I could handle you when you were throwing a big nasty looking scythe around, I'm sure I could take you on now."  
  


The corners of his mouth twitch a little, entirely against his will. "Are you sure about that?"  
  


"Pfff definitely." Jack scoffs. "I knocked you right out of the freakin sky and that was when you had all your crazy nightmare sand going for you! Now I'm a Guardian and you're like...a princess trapped in the tower or something."  
  


"I'm a _what_!?"  
  


"I'm just making the best analogy here!" Jack says innocently.  
  


The new argument that breaks out lasts them nearly an entire hour, and Kozmotis almost starts to forget why he was worried.  
  


He almost starts to think that maybe, somehow, things may actually get better.

**  
  
**

Things may get better, but sometimes it doesn’t really feel that way.  
  
  
It’s almost easier, when the whispers are loud and particularly sinister and violent. When the remnants of shadow feels like an inky tar that’s stained his insides and the memories of Pitch Black are loud and sharp.   
  
Those days weren’t good by any stretch of the word. They weren’t anywhere close to the vague vicinity of “good.” But at least, if they were extremely bad, then he could take some sort of warped comfort in the fact that none of that was him, and instead could be blamed as an unfortunate side effect of being infected with the dark plague of the universe for a few eons or so.

  
Sometimes he feels like ripping out of his own skin and knocking the heads out of anything that comes close. Sometimes he feels like he's some caged beast that will burst out as soon as he finds a crack in the bars. Sometimes it feels like there's nothing in his head but rage and shadow and regret and the voice of Pitch Black is a distant thing.  
  


Sometimes he remembers that Pitch Black doesn't exist, that there is no voice. Sometimes he remembers that everything is Kozmotis Pitchiner, from the shadows to the hissing to the mocking laughter.  

  
All of it forced into some separate voice so that Kozmotis can pretend that it isn't part of him.

  
He spends most of the day upside down on the couch, with his legs thrown over the back and most of his body on the cushions while his head hangs down over the floor. It's not comfortable, by any means, but the rushing of blood in his head drowns out other sounds and the pounding of his own heart against gravity helps to remind him that he has blood and muscle and a heart that is free of shadow. He rests his hands over his stomach, not moving even when his vision begins to swim and he can see spot of dark at the corners of his eyes, growing and consuming and pulsing over everything he can see.

 

 

  
It's not a comfort, being reminded of the shadows seeping into his eyes and drowning out the light, of a pulsing wave of darkness filling his lungs and veins with burning hate. But he doesn't think he really deserves comfort right now, so he stays with his head down and his blood pounding in his ears.

  
"Did they just not have furniture where you come from? Is that why you don't know how to sit like a normal person?"

  
He's past the point of being startled by Jack turning up out of nowhere, so he simply sighs and doesn't move, though his eyes flick to where Jack is perched up on the back of the couch.

  
The boy looks brighter, more saturated, than he did long ago. He's fuller now than the pale and frozen corpse that had first drawn Pitch in with his lonely eyes and thin shoulders caving in around a thinner chest. All of his blues are bluer, his hair constantly catching light like the shine of a fresh snow in the sun, and his skin, while still pale as death, has tinge of pink and bright glowing life.

  
Jack has everything he had wanted now. He has belief and a purpose, a family of four in the Guardians, who are closer than they ever were because of this bright snowfall boy.

  
Jack is glowing with his own confidence and purpose, while Pitch Black is Kozmotis Pitchiner, who lies upside down on the floor just to drown out his thoughts with his own blood and misery.

  
"You have no idea where I come from."

  
"Space." Jack breezes, as if there’s no issue with generalizing the entire universe because he can’t even comprehend anything beyond this spec of a world. "Are you in one of those moods?" Jack goes on, casual as if he were asking about the weather.

  
"Which mood?" Kozmotis growls at the ceiling, "I tend to have more than one."

  
"Your ‘I’m in a downward spiral of self hate and angst and I’m taking everyone with me’ moods."

  
He decides it’s best not to dignify that with a response.

  
“You’re so focused on space.” He says instead.  
  
  
“Well not all of us got the chance to let ourselves be jaded to the wonders of the great beyond.” Jack shrugs. “I like knowing there’s something bigger, that there’s other stuff going on out there. It makes me feel less alone, even if it’s all so far away.”  
  
  
He absolutely does not want to be hearing this right now. Kozmotis is in no state to hear Jack start talking about loneliness and his attempts to find comfort in the loneliest place Kozmotis had known. “You wanted stories.” He announces, still looking at the ceiling, but he can see Jack perk up in his periphery.   
  
  
With a twist he swings his legs down from the couch, pivoting until he’s sitting on the floor instead with one arm on the seat of the couch. “The Void, or Fearlings, as they’re called down here, were already known to possess people. They can drive you insane from the outside, but give them a body to move and they can focus and do some actual and very physical damage. They were called the Nightmare Men, even then, because just being around them could keep you up for days after an encounter.”  
  
  
There’s a thread on the couch, that is just so slightly out of place. It’s odd, since Sandy made this whole room himself, and therefore must have purposely put a thread on the couch out of place. Kozmotis worries it between his fingers, ignoring Jack’s frown.  
  
  
“There were some theories that there were still men inside those husks, and they were treated as normal criminals to be tried and locked away on some desolate planet. After a while we started sending a few of our regular criminals there as well, nothing dissuades crime like the threat of being locked in with the Void, after all.”  
  
  
He glances over and Jack is staring at him like something new and terrible is there. Jack’s eyes are wide and his brow drawn tight, fingers digging into the wood of his staff. Somehow, having Jack look at him like that feels familiar, it feels like home.  
  
  
“You put regular people out there?” Jack asks, quietly, like there has never been an atrocity on this dear little planet of his.  
  
  
“Murderers, rapists, enemies of the Empire.” Kozmotis shrugs. “I used to believe in the fair trials for the fallen ones, at least. I thought there was hope to save them, some day.” Oh the irony of that. How he had been so naively sure of a future cure, only to find there was one long after it was too late for him. “I found eventually that killing them was a better option.”  
  
  
The room chills, and Jack shifts. “What are you going for here, exactly? Telling me all of this?”  
  
  
“If I found a Nightmare Man, I’d take their head off, simple as that.” Kozmotis goes on, standing up and turning to face Jack, feeling calm and oddly in control.  
  
  
           _The same calm he felt that day as he held his sword. The calm kept his grip on it sure even when it began to grow slick with blood. Odd, that they bled like regular men when they were nothing but wrung out shells filled with darkness. The calm keeps his breathing even and his swings sure. This is no place for the scythe, and the sword is more personal._  
  
 _It’s closer._  
  
 _So he could feel the blood hit his arm and see their eyes when he took their lives. It was the same every time and each time the calm would wash out his mind and clear his thoughts so there was nothing but the death and the blood and-_  
  
  
The burst of cold on his chest stops him, he realizes he was speaking aloud when his breath hitches midword. Jack’s staff is angled just so the curve of it hits his sternum, and it stops him in his tracks (when had he started walking?).  
  
  
“Stop that.” Jack says firmly.  
  
  
When did he start walking when did his fists ball and his knuckles begin to crack from the grip of it what happened where did he go why wasn’t the voice there where was the voice?  
  
  
“Hey no. No come on breathe.” The staff drops away from his chest (he is breathing that’s the problem he can’t stop breathing he can’t slow it down he can’t even control himself when the shadows are quiet) “Come on man, slowly, in and out this is like basic kid stuff, you know how to breathe. You can’t be some star captain without breathing, Koz.”  
  
  
Something cold pats his cheek. Jack’s hand.   
  
  
It’s enough of a sensation to knock him into himself and his breath startles him. It also startles his body, which suddenly decides that it’s had enough of standing up. Jack grabs at his arms when his legs threaten to buckle under him.  
  
  
“What- how did I - that was me it was just me I don’t know what happened I don’t-”  
  
  
“Focus on sitting down big guy.”

  
The couch hits the back of his knees and he falls back, hands shaking and tangled in fabric (when did he grab onto the sleeves of Jack’s shirt?).  
  
  
“Ok you gotta let go now, I promise you won’t fall through the couch.”   
  
  
He manages to let go and hinges himself on Jack’s voice. It doesn’t  matter what the brat is saying, Kozmotis just needs to hear something, needs something he can listen to besides the blood pounding in his ears and the silence that his head fills far too easily.  
  
  
“Keep talking.” He rasps after Jack goes quiet. “I don’t care what you talk about just, keep talking. Tell me about what you keep running off to do.”  
  
  
“What?” Jack blinks. “Why do you want to hear about all that? Is this really-”  
  
  
“I just need to listen to something else! It’s too quiet, it gets too quiet in here and I can’t just sit and watch the television and without your idiotic chatter all those shows you leave here remind me of everything. They’re terrible but they still make me think of it. So I need you to just talk and ramble about something stupid that has nothing to do with me so I don’t have to hear anything that DOES have to do with me.” None of that made sense, and he doesn’t care. He just needs Jack to understand right now.

  
“Okay.” Jack exhales and perches gingerly at the far end of the couch, hands moving constantly on his staff. “Well, it’s December now, so I’m really busy getting everyone into the holiday spirit, you know? If I get everyone all wide eyed and in wonder over the snow and frost, it makes North’s job easier. And all the holiday joy is perfect for me, because people WANT to have fun, even though they’re all so stressed. So I’ve been going around a lot and hitting people with the snowballs and just trying to make some more people smile. We’re supposed to focus on kids, but I try to hit the grown ups too. If they get into the fun, then they go out with their kids and everything’s better for them all.”  
  
  
Jack doesn’t stop fiddling with his staff and keeps glancing over like he’s waiting to be told to stop. Kozmotis knows that Jack isn’t used to talking for this length of time, that he usually keeps himself to frequent little quips and remarks, but doesn’t just talk about his day. He’s very aware that he’s probably making Jack uncomfortable, but can’t really care right now.  
  
  
“The other day I got a mom to go sledding down the hills in cardboard boxes with her kids.” Jack goes on. Kozmotis leans back on the couch and closes his eyes, not really paying attention, but gripping onto the sound of someone else’s voice and the light subject matter. Jack’s voice is so outside of himself that it’s surprisingly easy to feel himself drift into an odd peace at the sound.  
  
  
“Are you even listening?”  
  
  
“No. Yes.” Kozmotis sighs. “Sort of. I can’t tell you what you just said but...it...it’s helping. It gets too quiet in here, and it’s nice hearing a voice that isn’t my own.” This next part will be difficult. Kozmotis sets his jaw and frowns with his eyes still closed. It has to be done, might as well get it overwith. “So...thank you.”  
  
  
Jack’s laugh is smaller than usual, it’s a soft little chuckle, just a quick puff of air with a small sound to it. “Yeah. Well what are friends for right?”  
  
  
Friends.  
  
  
Kozmotis opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling. Again. “Are we friends?”  
  
  
It’s an honest question.  
  
  
“I...think we are?” Jack says tentatively.  
  
  
Jack, who’s been visiting semi regularly for several months now. Who’s become  a regular occurrence in this strange golden prison. Who just talked Kozmotis out of another breakdown with stories about snowballs and sledding.  
  
  
“I think we are.” Kozmotis agrees, and he expected saying that to hurt more, after he had been fighting it for so long.  
  
  
“Do you not know what friendship feels like? Is that why this is so confusing for you?” Jack teases. Which is good, he sounds more like himself that way.  
  
  
“It’s been...it’s been a very long time since I’ve had a friend.”  
  
  
“I’ve only started on this friend thing with people, so I’m sure we can figure it out somehow.” Jack shrugs, smile already coming   
back to it’s usual spot on his face.  
  
  
“I’m sure we can.” Kozmotis breathes.   
  
  
He starts feeling just a little bit better.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Oh god I wanna thank EVERYONE. All the tumblr crowd for dealing with me babbling about my Kozmotis feels for the past few months, ihavealair and sammiches for being awesome betas. Zinfandel and Kalael for dealing with me in skype and helping me hash out ideas.
> 
> And, of course, the awesome and ridiculously talented Besteck, who nearly gave me a heart attack when she asked if she could illustrate my Koz fic.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Castle on a Cloud](https://archiveofourown.org/works/782677) by [Kalael](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalael/pseuds/Kalael)
  * [First There Were Fearlings...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064099) by [Uniasus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uniasus/pseuds/Uniasus)




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